The Unseen War II: Shattered Dreams
by Rigil Kent
Summary: Episode II of "The Unseen War." More isolated than ever, Supreme Chancellor Leia Organa-Solo's destiny unfolds while Jedi Knights Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade investigate troubling rumors that a Sith Lord has been reborn. AU, 12 ABY, L/M
1. Chapter 1

**Shattered Dreams**

**Genre:** Drama, action-adventure, wildly … nay … **happily** AU.  
**Rated:** PG-13. Some mild language, adult situations, and some dark tones. Nothing darker than ROTS, though. I think.  
**Summary: **Episode II of _The Unseen War_. More isolated than ever, Supreme Chancellor Leia Organa-Solo's destiny unfolds while Jedi Knights Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade investigate troubling rumors that a Sith Lord has been reborn. AU, 12 ABY, L/M**  
Disclaimer: **I own it **ALL! **Okay, maybe not...

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**Author's Note: **Begins 6 months after the end of _Tyranny Reborn._

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A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

**THE UNSEEN WAR  
EPISODE II  
SHATTERED DREAMS  
**

Chaos threatens to engulf the galaxy. Although a newly declared cease fire has ended the war between the New Republic and the Second Imperium, simmering tensions between the two governments threaten to explode into open conflict once more.

Obsessed with bringing order and stability to the galaxy, Chancellor Leia Organa-Solo embarks upon a dangerous new initiative to open peace talks with the leaders of the Second Imperium against the counsel of her advisers.

At the same time, Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade continue their desperate search for the elusive Dark Lady of the Sith, Lumiya who has enlisted a deadly new ally no one is expecting...

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**Chapter 1**

THERE was no response.

Bathed in a halo of silver light from the ceiling illumination fixture, Xamuel Lennox stood silently in the cockpit of the _Sentinel_-class landing craft, his hands clasped tightly at the small of his back and his face creased in the stern frown of a patrician as he watched the co-pilot attempt to make a com-check once more. The uniform he wore was tight, almost too tight, but revealed a body yet unravaged by time despite his age. Though the cabin was already hot from re-entry, he did not sweat – another sign of his excellent physical conditioning – and only the slow rise and fall of his chest was proof that he was not an illusion or a hologram.

The lander spiraled down from the orbiting star destroyer _Resilience_ and Lennox fought the urge to close his eyes. It had been a long journey for him and he was feeling every day of his forty-five years. Eighty days had passed since the Admiralty presented him with this latest task and he had spent nearly all that time on the command deck of his destroyer as they tracked the renegade force spreading chaos through the quadrant. Sleep had been a luxury for lesser men and now, exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. By force of will alone, he managed to push it back.

"No response, Commodore," the co-pilot announced, as though Xamuel did not already know this, and Lennox gave him the slightest of nods.

"Final approach now," the pilot declared, glancing once in Xamuel's direction. The commodore ignored him, instead maintaining his stance and focusing on appearing as the all-knowing, all-powerful being a flag officer should be.

Flanking the shuttle as it continued its rapid descent were six TIE Interceptors. Built more for vacuum flight, they wobbled uneasily as the planet's atmosphere threw them around, but the pilots managed to adjust admirably. Xamuel would have preferred to have dedicated planetary assault fighters on an approach like this, but the _Resilience _wasn't equipped with such a need in mind. Two of the Interceptors peeled out of formation, accelerating rapidly, and Lennox nearly smiled. Either the quarry had been sighted or the flight commander was more effective than anticipated. In any event, it was a good omen.

As the _Sentinel _dipped through the atmosphere, the landing sight – a snow-capped mountain pass – came into view and Xamuel's breath caught slightly. Destruction was everywhere. Immense craters dominated the landscape and dark smoke climbed into the sky from crashed starships. Over a dozen snubfighters – all of a design Lennox hadn't seen since the Clone Wars – were on the ground, flames rapidly consuming them, and debris from twice to three times that number of TIEs were scattered over dozens of kilometers. A single _Strike_-class cruiser was half-buried in the mountain, its hull bent and distorted from the impact.

"Elites," Xamuel said softly, his voice not rising above a whisper, "stand ready." Through the open hatch behind him, he could hear them shift anxiously, the eagerness for the hunt momentarily overcoming their discipline. A darktrooper chassis merged with a living brain and nervous system, they were the pinnacle of Imperial war technology and Lennox was interested to see how they performed.

He had, after all, spent the last year overseeing their design.

With the six TIEs providing air cover, the lander touched down unmolested, its boarding ramps curling open for the Elites. They exited without hesitation, surrounding the _Sentinel _with a ring of living steel. Glints of blue sunlight reflected off their hardened armor as they sprang into formation and another smile nearly touched the commodore's lips as he watched their calculated deployment. Few could match their speed, their strength, their power.

"Inform _Resilience _we have arrived," Lennox ordered as he turned and strode toward the boarding ramp, well aware of the surprised stares of the lander's crew. It was unthinkable for a man of his stature to enter a hot combat zone, but in the years since Xamuel's failure at Hoth, he had cultivated a mystique of invulnerability. Everywhere he went afterward, he heard the rumors, heard officers and crews whisper how the Rebels managed to disable only a single destroyer in the rout and how Xamuel Lennox had let his pride get in the way of his duty. He became obsessed with proving his value, so much so that he would venture into combat zones even a stormtrooper would fear to tread. And still, the whispers continued.

Failure was a difficult label to shake.

As if he were not stepping onto a contested world, Lennox strode down the ramp and onto the soft soil. The smell of smoke and burning metal was thick in the air, causing him to unconsciously wrinkle his nose in distaste. One of the Elites, a Ground-Captain by his rank scheme, pointed toward the _Strike_-class.

"One life sign detected there," the Elite said, his electronically modulated voice harsh, and Xamuel let his eyes drift in the direction indicated. He nodded slightly, a signal for the Elites to proceed, and they surged forward as one, leaving only the Ground-Captain and another to provide protection for Lennox. His expression resolute, Xamuel began picking his way across the hellish landscape, his eyes open and his every sense straining for a hint of danger. It would be unfortunate, he mused darkly, for one of his rank to be killed on this nothing of a world.

Abruptly, the Elites altered direction and angled sharply away from the smashed _Strike_-class. Lennox frowned slightly, wondering what they had detected, when two of them suddenly sprang forward, covering ground in huge, ungainly leaps achievable only by technology. They landed lightly near an impact crater and a crashed snubfighter; one of the Elites batted the broken ship aside and both of them vanished from sight as they descended into the crater.

The wait was a long one, far longer than Xamuel would like, and he shifted slightly in place as he waited for the two to return. When they did reappear, one of them was carrying a still form and they covered the ground easily in that odd, lurching jump of theirs. The figure was manacled, Lennox noticed, and he suddenly understood the delay. He smiled tightly.

At his nod, the Elite carrying the figure lowered it to the ground and Xamuel blinked away a momentary sense of déjà vu. There was something strange about this man, something familiar though Lennox knew he had never met the man before. The prisoner was tall, perhaps a meter-nine in height, and dressed in an obsolete flight suit. His hair was dark blond in color and trimmed short. Livid scars marred his otherwise youthful face and electrical burns had scorched away much of the human's protective gear.

With a suddenness that caused Xamuel to take a step back in surprise, the prisoner snapped awake and scrambled awkwardly to his feet. Two of the Elites – the pair that had sought him out – quickly grasped his arms and held him fast. He struggled against them for the briefest of moments, though there was no chance of him breaking free, before turning his eyes – so cold! – to Lennox.

"You should let me go," the man snapped, his voice quivering with fury. The Elite Ground-Captain reacted instantly, striking the human with the back of his gauntleted hand.

"Speak only when spoken to, scum," the half-droid, half-man ordered. Spitting blood, the prisoner speared the captain with an expression so fierce, so deadly that the Elite took an involuntary step back.

"You are now in the custody of the Empire," Lennox said calmly. He gestured toward the destruction around them. "We have many questions to ask you about what transpired here."

"You should let me go," the prisoner repeated. His words were powerful, and for the briefest of seconds, Xamuel was tempted to do that very thing. His duty, however, overwhelmed the momentary urge. Failure, after all, was a difficult thing to shake.

"I think not," Lennox replied. "You may very well be responsible for the deaths of every Imperial citizen who died here and will face judgment of your crimes."

"They attacked me first!" the prisoner snarled. A strange yellowish tinge washed over his eyes, wiping away their natural blue color, and Lennox felt the first stirring of fear.

"You were trespassing in Imperium space," Xamuel said as he began to inch away from the man, gesturing discreetly as he did for the Elites to stand ready. "By law, I am empowered to execute you here." He gave the man a frown. "It would seem I have two options: kill you here or kill you after we have the information we seek."

"You have another option," the prisoner said, his voice dark. Something rolled over him then, something terrible. "You can die with everyone else."

With a wordless shout, the two Elites holding him released their grips and staggered back, their hands opening and closing at crazed, random intervals. Sparks exploded from the Elites' armor and the pair toppled, their armor suddenly ripped asunder. The prisoner looked down at his binders and – to Lennox's horror – they snapped open even as the Ground-Captain was bringing his rifle to bear. Bluish lightning exploded from the man's fingers, lancing out through the sky to envelop every living creature within two meters.

Xamuel shrieked in agony as the lightning wrapped around him, burning into his flesh and causing him to collapse. The Elites within the range of the unexpected attack uttered inhuman screams of anguish as their delicate nervous systems exploded. They fell, like suddenly deactivated droids, but the man wasn't done. He gestured once, and two of the falling Elites flashed through the air, smashing into the pair who had not been touched by the lightning with impacts that shattered armor.

And still, the monster wasn't done.

He turned to face the _Sentinel_-class lander and raised a hand toward it. With a fierce expression, he closed the hand into a fist and the sound of metal rending echoed through the mountain pass. Face-down in the snow, his nerve endings on fire, Xamuel could just make out the distorted shape of what little remained of the lander's cockpit and horror surged through him.

"I warned you," the Jedi – for he _had _to be a Jedi with this sort of unnatural power at his fingertips – growled as he stalked toward where Lennox writhed on the ground. The man gestured once more and Xamuel felt invisible arms lift him off the ground to hold him there, spread-eagled and suspended a meter from the snow.

Soil erupted around them as the TIE Interceptors looped around and opened fire. With a single wave of his hand, the Jedi sent Lennox flying through the air toward one of the impact craters even as he made an impossible leap in the opposite direction. Xamuel hit the ground _hard_ – he felt ribs break and liquid fire lanced through his shoulder – and he fought to remain conscious. Waves of fire washed over the crater as one of the Interceptors exploded and spinning debris tumbled through the air. Gritting his teeth, Lennox crawled to the edge of the crate and pushed himself up to see what had happened.

Two of the Interceptors were already down, miniature explosions cooking off the power cells, and in the moment Xamuel peeked over the edge of the crater, a third smashed into the ground and threw up a geyser of dirt, rock and snow. Standing in the very center of the pass, the Jedi was unhurt. A hurricane of debris – corpses, rocks, and shattered starships – wailed around him. He pointed with his left hand and the armored corpse of an Elite shot forward as if launched by a railgun; it punched through the cockpit of one of the Interceptors approaching on a strafing run, killing the pilot instantly.

Even as the dead TIE began to nosedive, the Jedi made a slapping gesture out with his right hand and the Interceptor reacted as if it had been struck by a forcefield. Tumbling out of control, it spun into another of the Interceptors and both vanished in an explosion of fire. The sixth TIE instantly abandoned its attack run and began climbing rapidly in a desperate attempt to get away.

"No, you don't," the Jedi growled as he threw both of his arms forward. The spinning debris around him suddenly darted forward at impossible speeds and all of it – _all _of it – slammed into the fleeing TIE.

His breath coming heavily and sweat pouring down his face, the Jedi turned glacially cold eyes toward Lennox and gestured. Once more, Xamuel felt the invisible grip lift him.

"What are you?" he rasped as he floated before the yellow-eyed man. His captor barked out a laugh, ragged and bitter.

"A weapon," the Jedi said darkly. "My _mistress_," he continued, his words angry and bitter, "named me Darth Torious because there can be only one Vader." The monster stepped closer to Lennox and narrowed his eyes. "But you," he said coldly, "can call me _master_."

Living flame seared through Xamuel's mind and he closed his eyes.

* * *

She opened her eyes.

At first, Mara wasn't sure what had woken her and she instinctively reached for the lightsaber she had taken to keeping hidden beneath her pillow. As her hand wrapped around the weapon, she realized she was alone – Luke had obviously gotten up some time earlier and she hadn't noticed it – and she came fully awake. She stretched out with the Force cautiously, consciously maintaining as small a psychic profile as possible, and let her senses expand. Luke was easy to find – his Force signature burned brightly in the room on the other side of the bedroom door – but there was no other living creatures present.

Frowning, Mara slid off the bed and padded silently to the door. She paused there and listened for a moment. A low buzz, indicative of a hologram in use, caused her to relax slightly as she realized Luke was back at work. She started to smile at his work ethic before making a face. They were on vacation, for kriff's sake. He was supposed to be relaxing. She carefully eased the door open – it was an ancient, hinged slab of wood that opened soundlessly – and carefully glanced over the room beyond.

As expected, Luke was hunched before the holo-transmitter, an intent expression stamped upon his face as he watched the events before him unfold. He had a thick blanket wrapped over his shoulders to help him ward off the cool night air, and his hair was wildly unkempt. As Mara silently watched, he bit his lower lip in an unconscious gesture before scratching his ear. Despite her best efforts to hold it in, she found herself smiling at the air of distraction surrounding him. It was, she decided fondly, unbelievably cute.

With their hunt for this Lumiya woman entering its sixth month of no results, Mara had put her foot down and insisted they take a break. Talking Luke into agreeing hadn't been too terribly difficult; all she'd had to do was point out that he had skimped on her knighting ceremony and then imply she was a little hurt over this fact. Mara doubted Luke actually believed her – he knew her well enough to recognize she didn't play silly games like that and usually just told him what she wanted – but he had agreed nonetheless. After promptly dumping the Noghri off onto Karrde for a few days, they had snuck onto Mon Calamari under assumed identities.

Luke abruptly stirred and glanced in her direction, his eyes widening slightly at her state of undress. She tried to hide her smile at his reaction as she walked across the room.

"You're awake," she accused him, and Luke finally glanced up to meet her eyes.

"And you're naked," he replied. Mara smirked.

"You're the one who took my clothes off, Farmboy," she reminded him with a naughty grin as she dropped onto the couch beside him and reached for the blanket he had wrapped over his shoulders. Her lightsaber went on the small table before them, next to Luke's. He responded immediately and shifted to give her more space. Mara wiggled closer, sighing contently as he wrapped his arms around her.

"I meant you're _really _naked," Luke said a moment later, and Mara tensed slightly at the meaning behind his words. In the two months since she'd taken him to her bed, she'd become so accustomed to his presence it hadn't even occurred to her that she wasn't wearing the flesh-toned skinsuit she usually wore. Specially designed to give her complete range of motion without impairing any of her normal physical functions, it had originally been developed for burn victims and concealed the myriad scars she'd acquired throughout the years in her service to the Emperor. She had worn the skinsuit for so long, most of the time she wasn't even aware of it anymore. He was, she realized, the first lover she'd ever had who had _truly _seen her naked in the light of day, scars and all, and she suddenly felt a surge of fear: what if he was repulsed? What if he was disgusted by what he saw?

"Stop that," he said as he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. The fingers of his other hand began tracing one of the larger scars across her lower stomach affectionately. "You know I'm not."

"Stay out of my head, Skywalker," Mara ordered half-heartedly, even as she relaxed deeper into his embrace. It was an unusual feeling, knowing someone had seen all of her blemishes – both physical and emotional – and still wanted her.

She liked the feeling. A lot.

Luke chuckled and moved slightly on the couch to make more room for her. His fingers continue to stroke her skin, though Mara suspected he wasn't consciously aware of doing it. Peace seemed to radiate from him and she drank it in greedily, as if it were water and she was dying of thirst. Having not known him when he was in the Rebellion, she wasn't sure if the aura he projected was due to his Jedi training or something instinctively _him, _but it was so soothing, so relaxing, she felt herself sliding towards sleep once more. Through the hazy fog of a drowsy mind, she glanced at the flickering hologram Luke had paused.

It was Vader.

Or, more accurately, Anakin Skywalker. Based on his appearance, she guessed it was a recording of Luke's father from sometime during the Clone Wars prior to or immediately after the Battle of Coruscant. Mara frowned at the shortness of the holographic Anakin's hair; in her fruitless search for the identity of her parents, she had spent countless hours studying holos of the era in the hopes she would recognize someone from her fractured early memories, and had seen nearly every recording Luke had of his father so the incongruity of the hologram immediately caused her to give it a second look. Holo-Anakin looked to be in his early to mid-twenties, but the length of his hair didn't match with the era.

"Why are you watching old vids?" she asked, blinking away the lethargy robbing her mind of its usual sharpness. Instantly, Mara could feel Luke's Force signature flare with suppressed emotions. The muscles in his jaw tightened and he grimaced.

"I'm not," he said softly before gesturing slightly in the direction of the holo-reader. It resumed playing instantly and Mara's breath caught as holo-Anakin cut a swath through Imperial stormtroopers.

"A clone?" she whispered in disbelief. "She cloned Vader?" Too late, she realized she'd referred to his father as Vader instead of Anakin – it was still a touchy subject for him – but for the first time in a very long time, he didn't correct her.

"Yes," Luke replied. "Talon had this delivered a little while ago," he continued, and Mara didn't bother asking how Karrde knew where they were. Her old boss continually surprised her and she'd long since given up asking him how he managed to know as much as he did.

"And I didn't hear it arrive?" Mara asked, frowning at the implication she had lost her edge. "More importantly," she muttered, "how did _you_ hear it?" Luke shrugged.

"I was still awake," he admitted, flushing slightly as he did. Mara smiled tightly as she suddenly understood why. On several occasions over the last few weeks, she'd caught him watching her sleep. It both flustered and warmed her at the same time, though she had no idea why. "It's from about a month ago," Luke said of the holo a moment later. His voice was flat, controlled and utterly emotionless. Had she not learned to read his moods, Mara might have even been fooled into thinking he wasn't affected by this discovery.

"So that's why they all used Djem So," she murmured.

"What?" Luke tore his attention away from the hologram as it began to repeat the clone's assault and gave her a questioning look.

"Didn't you ever wonder why the clones always used Djem So?" she asked, referencing the fifth form of lightsaber combat. "Even when they would have been better off with Ataru or Soresu?" She nodded to the hologram. "Now we know."

"I suppose," Luke said. His mental shields were up and Mara imagined she could hear the grinding of his teeth as his eyes were locked on the holo playing out for a third time. She leaned forward and half-twisted so she could look him in the eye.

"He's not your father, Luke," she pointed out in as non-combative a voice as she could manage. Knowing Skywalker as she did, Mara was worried he would get it in his mind to do something unbelievably noble.

"I know," he admitted before leaning his head back against the couch to stare at the ceiling. "I thought facing the clones of Ben was hard enough," he said calmly. "But this?" He blew out a breath and Mara winced at the rolling emotions she could sense simmering within him. "This makes me angry." His expression darkened. "What right does she have to do this?" he wondered, his voice tight. "It's hard enough knowing that my father was a mass murderer," Luke said through clenched teeth, "but _cloning_ him so the clone can pick up where he left off?" Fury, hot and bitter, leaked through his mental shields, and Mara winced at the intensity of the emotion.

"We'll deal with it," she told him before stretching out with the Force to deactivate the viewer. The holo vanished in a flicker of static. "But not today." She leaned toward him, brushing his lips with her own. He returned the kiss softly, leisurely, and Mara felt his anger melt away, only to be replaced by an equally primal but _far _more pleasant emotion. Luke pulled her closer.

And then, the universe – and all of the darkness they were facing – fell away for a time.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Replies at bottom.

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**Chapter 2**

TIME was the one thing she didn't have enough of.

A sharp pain began building in her temple, and Leia Organa-Solo leaned back in her chair as her advisors continued to drone on. She couldn't recall the last time she'd gotten out of the office on time and, based on the amount of work still to do, tonight would be no different. Her stomach grumbled softly, reminding her that she'd been forced to skip lunch to deal with a minor crisis involving the Rodian delegation.

But then, she reflected with annoyance, there was _always _a problem with the Rodians.

"-and you have a meeting scheduled with Fleet Command at fifteen hundred tomorrow," Winter was saying smoothly from where she sat. There was no hint that she was upset at still being here, despite the lateness of the hour, but Leia wasn't surprised; Winter's husband Tycho, was offworld at the moment, attending Gavin Darklighter's marriage on Chandrila along with the rest of Rogue Squadron, so Winter didn't have anyone waiting for her at home. "I believe," Winter continued, "they want to consult you on the feasibility of promoting Traest Kre'fey to commodore." Leia made a face.

"Borsk's cousin?" she asked with a frown, noting that her other visitor, Viqi Shesh, reacted in the same manner. Though Clan Alya had remained suspiciously quiet in the months since the implosion of Fey'lya's career, Leia knew it was only a matter of time before they retaliated. In preparation, she had taken the unprecedented step of hiring dozens of lawyers and private investigators with clear instructions to keep her apprised of the situation and to work on pre-emptive defenses.

Unprecedented, that was, for an Aldereaanian.

"Colonel Kre'fey has an excellent record," Winter pointed out, "and is the only member of Fey'lya's family who did not reap the benefits of his cousin's term as chancellor."

"Get me a copy of his record," Leia instructed with a heavy sigh. "I'll take a look at it tomorrow morning." She found herself pinching the bridge of her nose to ward off the building headache and forced herself to stop. "Anything else?"

"The Imperial ambassador has requested a meeting with you," Winter said in response. "We've scheduled it for eighteen hundred hours."

"Did he say why?" Shesh asked, a tight frown on her face. In the six months since Leia's election to the chancellorship, the Kuati woman had ceased trying to conceal her almost rabid dislike for all things Imperial. Though Shesh was generally tight-lipped about the reasons for her anti-Imperial bias, a brief data search had turned up references to several family members executed for treason or because they were linked to the Rebel Alliance in some peripheral fashion. It had been an unexpected discovery, one that gave Leia more insight into her Vice-Chancellor and one that inexplicably linked them.

"I suspect he desires to discuss the chancellor's peace proposal," Winter said coolly. Her tone changed only slightly, and it was the only visible sign of her dislike of the Kuati senator. To Winter's credit, she never allowed her emotions affect her work; had Leia not grown up with her on Alderaan, it was doubtful Organa-Solo would have even recognized the simmering distrust within her friend directed toward Senator Shesh.

A sour look crossed Viqi's face and she glanced down at her clasped hands. Even before she spoke, Leia knew what she was going to say. Not from the Force, though, but rather from an understanding of how Shesh's mind worked.

"This proposal is a mistake," the Kuati woman declared sharply, exactly as expected. She had been opposed to it from the moment Leia had floated the idea before the Provisional Council mere weeks after the Battle of Korriban. The emotional part of Leia that yet seethed with anger toward the monsters responsible for the destruction of Alderaan empathized with Shesh, but the cool, logical portion of Bail and Breha Organa's adopted daughter saw the reorganization of the Imperial remnant into the Second Imperium under the dual leadership of Gilad Pellaeon and Leonia Tavira as a golden opportunity for peace. Pellaeon especially was known to be a soldier's soldier; unlike so many of the would-be warlords who had risen to high rank in the Empire, High Consul Pellaeon didn't want to wage war simply for the pleasure of it or to test out new weapon systems.

"We should move against the Empire while they're distracted with this latest round of in-fighting," Shesh continued, voicing the oft-stated opinion of the more aggressive members of the military and the Senate.

"How many more have to die," Leia asked flatly, "before we can finally have peace?"

"Until the Empire is obliterated from existence," Shesh replied equally cold, "there will _be _no peace." She rose to her feet. "If you do not mind, Chancellor," she said tightly, "I will leave you. Until the morrow." Shesh was heading toward the door before Leia could even reply.

"She's right," Winter said the moment the door sealed behind the Kuati senator. "You know you can't trust the Empire to uphold any bargain they make."

"It's the Imperium now," Leia corrected absently as she leaned back in her chair. "And who said anything about believing them?"

"Trust but verify," Winter remarked with a smile, invoking one of Bail's favorite sayings. Leia nodded.

"Exactly." She pinned her old friend with a look. "I don't trust Tavira as far as I could throw her," she admitted, "but Pellaeon? He's the shatterpoint."

"It's a dangerous gamble," the silver-haired woman said. "You're pitting his sense of honor against his sense of loyalty." Winter shook her head slightly. "This could blow up in your face," she warned.

"And it might not," Leia argued. She offered her friend a wry smile. "Besides," she said, "Rand and those pack of jackals of hers at GNN will rip me to shreds long before that happens." Winter laughed lightly.

"Speaking of," she said with a smile, and Leia fought back a groan; she had a good idea what was coming next. "You have a press conference scheduled for the day after tomorrow. Rand and her 'pack of jackals' will be in attendance."

"Lovely," Leia muttered. Without her realizing it, her fingers had once again found the bridge of her nose. This time, however, she didn't try to hide her exhaustion. "What's on the agenda for this one?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Winter replied. "The economy, the war, plus the usual inquiries about-"

"Luke and Mara," Leia finished. She let her head drop back onto the top of her chair and sighed heavily. Since her brother's unexplained disappearance six months earlier, the holo-journalists had hounded her nonstop about where he had gone to, especially when a little bit of digging had turned up the fact that Jade was with him. For almost a month, the 'recuperating and searching for Jedi artifacts' line had kept the reporters at bay, but the sudden and anonymous release of a hologram of the couple entering the honeymoon suite of Socorro's largest hotel had re-ignited a firestorm of speculation. The holo had been examined by every expert willing to go on record – and there were a _lot _of them willing to do so – and verified as legitimate despite the time stamp having been digitally removed.

General Cracken of the NRI had admitted to having investigated the incident when Leia asked him about it – off the record, of course – and had confirmed that Luke and Jade _had _been on Socorro, but before the Battle of Korriban. They had spent ten days on-planet under assumed identities and their entire stay had been arranged by Governor Calrissian. Lando had even paid for their hotel stay, which meant he was the most likely culprit behind the release of the holo.

But Leia simply could _not_ figure out his motive behind this gambit. From her knowledge of his personality, Leia had expected Lando to actively begin pursuit of Jade – she was attractive and he was … well, he was Lando – but instead, he seemed more interested in throwing fuel onto the fire or acting like a facilitator. Leia had cornered him last month while he was on Coruscant and bluntly asked him about the holo; his response remained maddeningly obtuse.

"Just getting my money's worth," Lando had said with a broad grin before changing the subject.

"I'll want to be debriefed by Cracken before the press conference," Leia informed Winter with another heavy sigh. Though the general had never officially confirmed it, Leia knew New Republic Intelligence had a team dedicated entirely to tracking Luke's movements across the galaxy. As far as she was aware, though, the team hadn't had very much success. Leia wasn't sure if it was Luke using the Force to stay one step ahead of them or if it was due to Jade's training that the NRI was invariably a week to two weeks behind the pair, but she'd read enough of Cracken's reports to recognize the growing frustration of the intelligence agency over Skywalker's ability to simply vanish.

If it wasn't so annoying, Leia would find it funny.

"Already arranged," Winter said before rising to her feet. "Is there anything else, Your Highness?" she asked. Leia gave her a soft smile, recognizing her friend's less than subtle way of ending the meeting.

"No," Leia replied, "that will be all."

"I'll inform Guardsman Hsieh to prepare for your departure," Winter remarked.

"Hsieh?" Leia repeated as she stood, wincing at the tightness of her muscles. She spent a moment stretching, grimacing at the cacophony of pops that resulted from the motion. "Isn't it Quin's turn for the duty rotation?"

"He's with Senator bel Iblis on the Corellian fact-finding mission," Winter said. She narrowed her eyes. "Go home, Leia," she ordered. "Get some food and some sleep."

"Yes, ma'am," Leia retorted with a smile before gathering her belongings and heading toward the door.

Nearly another hour passed before she finally arrived at her apartment at 500 Republica. Cakhmaim, who had been at her side most of the day, silently turned toward the security foyer where his team generally resided while off-duty and vanished within it. Fighting back a yawn, Leia walked into the kitchen, her stomach growling. Her steps faltered at the sight of the festive decorations resting atop the table; clearly the handiwork of her children, they appeared to be crude representations of Chewbacca. Leia groaned: today had been the Wookiee holiday, Life Day, and she had missed it.

Han was going to kill her.

"Mistress Leia!" See-Threepio said in sudden greeting, causing Leia to jump slightly at the droid's unexpected appearance. "How good to see you!"

"Keep it down, Threepio," Leia instructed quickly as she opened the stasis unit to look for food. A bowl of smoked elvabird casserole caught her eye and she pulled it out. "We wouldn't want to wake the children." The droid tilted his head as he bustled into the kitchen.

"But they are not here, Mistress Leia," Threepio said quickly in response. Leia gave the droid a sharp look and he rushed to explain. "Captain Solo took them with him to Kashyyyk."

"He what?" Leia demanded. She felt a flicker of fear that Han had done something stupid. "And he didn't even consult me?" she growled, anger quickly washing away the fear. She glared at Threepio. "Did he even leave a message?" she asked.

"Of course, Mistress Leia." The droid's voice abruptly changed to a perfect recording of Han's voice. "Since I've been trying to get in touch with you all damned day and keep getting the runaround," Solo's voice said, thick with frustration, "I'm having Goldenrod record this for whenever you decide to come home." Leia winced at the well-deserved rebuke; she'd been in the office far, _far _more than her at home. "We got word that Lumpy was slightly injured in a katarn attack," the recording continued, referencing Chewbacca's son, Lumpawaroo, "so I'm taking Chewie to Kashyyyk. Meewahl is with us to help me keep an eye on the kids. We should be back in a week." There was a long pause, and for a moment, Leia thought the message was over. "And tell that twerp you've got answering your comm.," Han's voice added, "that when I call, I expect to be put through at once. Not after you get out of a meeting."

"Cakhmaim," Leia called. The Noghri appeared in the doorway at once. "Did you know about this?" she asked.

"I did not, Lady Solo," he replied, "until a few moments ago. Han Clan Solo insisted upon discretion." Cakhmaim glowered. "I will have … words with Meewahl about her failure to inform me of this decision." From his tone, it would not be a friendly discussion.

"Very well," Leia said. She clamped down on the emotions bubbling within her stomach and gave the Noghri and Threepio a regal nod. "Thank you," she said, hoping they would hear the dismissal in her words. Cakhmaim backed away without comment, and Threepio glanced back and forth between her and the retreating Noghri before following suit. A moment later, Leia was alone in the kitchen, staring at the unappealing food she'd pulled from the stasis unit. She sank into one of the chairs before the table and inhaled deeply.

"Damn you, Han," she muttered, though she wasn't sure if she was more angry at him or at herself. Things had been growing steadily tenser between them for months now, especially with her increased workload and her refusal to talk about what had happened in the year he'd been away. She knew it was wrong of her, but Leia simply wanted to forget the less than moral actions she'd taken, even if she knew Han wouldn't judge her. He'd done things in his own past he wasn't proud of, after all, not the least of which was smuggling spice. Unfortunately, her continuing silence on the subject was a point of contention between them and, falling back on the only thing she knew, Leia had thrown herself into her job, burying her worries and fears in work. That it left Han feeling like a single parent continued to twist her heart into knots. She wished she knew _how _to fix the problem, how to turn her back on the Republic she'd spent her entire life trying to rebuild.

_I'll make it up to him, _she promised as she stared at the food before her, _as soon as he gets back._

Untouched, the elvabird rapidly cooled in the night air.

* * *

The cold night air wailed around him, tearing at his clothes like freezing talons, and Kyle Katarn realized he may have made a mistake.

_This is a _really _stupid idea, _he reflected as he hurtled toward the ground at terminal velocity. Without a parachute or a jetpack, the slightest mistake could lead him to meeting a very abrupt and sticky end. Not for the first time, he was glad he'd talked Jan into staying home for this operation so she could get her malfunctioning cyber-hand looked at. If she had any clue what he was doing, she'd have gone berserk.

Kyle grimaced as he watched the digital counter – his current altitude – displayed on the inside of his faceplate rapidly dwindle. He should have been able to see the tower by now, even with this unprecedented cloud cover shrouding the target zone. A frisson of fear spiraled out from his belly as he realized that Horn might have screwed up their approach vector. Sure, the ex-CorSec operative was good in a snubfighter, but Kyle couldn't help but to remember the broken remnants of the _Sentinel_-class lander Horn had crashed during the Antilles rescue operation.

_Calm down, _he ordered himself. _Horn knows what he's doing. Don't panic. Besides, if you buy the farm here, you can come back and haunt him as a Force ghost._

He grinned at the thought.

The plan had been a simple one: Horn would conduct a stealth approach into the planetary atmosphere of Vjun, which would allow Katarn to implement a high altitude skydrop onto the target. To protect himself from frostbite, Kyle was wearing a combat softsuit complete with oxygen tank and assault gear, but he had decided to go without a chute for this operation. His previous team's last combat insertion using HALO jumps had been an unmitigated disaster; automated defenses had detected the deployment of the parachutes and come online before the team hit the ground. Six had died, fourteen had been injured, and the entire operation had been a fiasco of epic proportions.

A flash caught his eye and he quickly reached up to his helmet to activate the auto-focus feature built into the faceplate. The image zoomed sharply – more rapidly than he had expected – and Kyle blinked quickly to compensate. Again, there was a flash and he tilted his helmet in the direction. It was a skycraft warning light, attached to the very top of the target tower.

Kyle exhaled softly in relief as he flexed his muscles and oriented toward the distant tower now peeking out of the cloud cover. The rangefinder built into his helmet ticked off the distance – still nearly a kilometer distant – and Katarn lifted his left hand toward the tower structure. Breathing calmly, he stretched out with the Force, gripping the tower with a telekinetic grip.

And then, he _pulled._

He never expected to budge the tower – regardless of the Jedi maxim about size not mattering, Kyle knew what he was capable of and what he wasn't – but there was an instant reaction nonetheless. It was a simple application of basic physics: compared to the tower, his mass was so minimal it might as well be insignificant so, instead of the tower moving, Kyle himself moved. He likened it to be attached to the tower by a tether; the harder he pulled, the faster he fell toward it. Underneath his helmet, he grinned. He hadn't been sure this would actually work until now and Horn, unlike Jan, didn't know him well enough to recognize when he was blowing smoke.

A moment later, his smile faded as he realized he was still moving too fast. Flexing his abdominal muscles, he changed his facing until his feet were facing the rapidly approaching upper tower surface. If he wasn't careful, he'd likely break every bone in his body and that would really ruin the entire point of this operation so he once again reached out with the Force.

This time, he _pushed _away from the tower. Hard.

It didn't completely halt his descent – he was moving too fast for that – but it did slow him just enough that he didn't shatter his legs when he slammed into the surface of the sensor array atop the tower. The jarring impact sent a spike of pain up his spine and he tried rolling to distribute some of the shock of landing throughout his body. Too late, he realized the lip of the array – a maintenance stand by its dimensions – he'd hit was too narrow for the maneuver and he was suddenly airborne once more.

Without hesitation, Kyle grabbed the lightsaber at his waist, igniting it and stabbing the yellow blade into the metal mesh of the sensor array's superstructure. He barely bit back a curse as the sudden arresting of his fall nearly jerked his shoulder out of the socket. The superheated blade easily melted through the array's exterior but the resistance it met slowed him even further, and Katarn clung to the hilt of the saber with both hands, riding it down the length of the superstructure. A rain of sparks and molten metal splattered around him as he slid down the exterior surface of the tower array, and Kyle grimaced as he felt the gloves of his softsuit begin to hiss and smoke with the heat. Above him, the sensor array began to creak as he sliced through its support and Katarn winced as he saw a pair of troopers suddenly glance up from where they stood on the roof of the tower proper.

He thumbed the saber off instantly and let gravity carry him the rest of the way down. The troopers were trying to bring their rifles up, but Kyle knew they would be too late. His boots slammed into the chest of one of them and the shock of impact raced up his legs even as he felt the man's ribs give under the force of the blow. Katarn hit the roof a half second later, rolled and lunged to his feet, the lightsaber flashing into existence once more with a sharp _snap-hiss_. The second trooper gasped once as the searing blade speared through armor, flesh, bone and internal organs. He silently toppled, his face frozen in an expression of agonized horror.

"Sorry," Kyle muttered as he shut down the lightsaber. He never felt comfortable using it for wetworks operations like this one; it always felt like he was dishonoring Yun's sacrifice. He glanced around quickly, frowning at the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. There was no sign he'd been detected, but his every instinct was screaming at that something wasn't right.

When no reinforcements raced into view, Kyle knelt alongside the two bodies and pulled their helmets free, grimacing at the sharp twinge of pain accompanying the movement. He was getting too old for these sorts of theatrics. _Next time, _he decided with a frown, _I'll let Solusar go in first._

He stared at the identical features of the two dead men for a long moment before straightening from his crouch. He'd known this was a cloning facility before signing off on the assault plan, but actually seeing proof was something else entirely. Even worse, though, was the fact he recognized the face from his days in the stormtrooper corps.

The shriek of rending metal gave him a half second's warning before the sensor array collapsed under its own weight. He should have expected this, given the amount of damage he'd caused with the saber, but the speed with which the entire structure collapsed startled him. With a hollow _boom_, the dish at the top of array smashed into the roof of the tower as its support structure buckled and collapsed; bouncing once, the dish tumbled over the edge of the roof and vanished from sight.

"So much for a stealth insertion," Kyle muttered as he ripped off his helmet and checked the loadout for his RB-23. An air-cooled medium repeating blast, it could theoretically spit out two thousand blast bolts per minute, which came to around thirty-two or thirty-three bolts per second. He had a modified blast pack attached to the softsuit's ruck frame in the place where a parachute or jet pack would have been; from past experience, he had about two hundred and fifty shots with the pack before a reload would be necessary. Detaching the repeater from where it was secured alongside the pack, he charged it and turned toward the hatch leading down into the tower. Already, he could sense reinforcements charging up the stairs.

"This is Katarn," he said into his throat comm., "we have a green light."

"Copy," came Horn's instant response. Kyle didn't bother issuing additional orders as he kicked the hatch open and charged forward, the -23 already barking. A trio of startled-looking troopers was on the other side and they fell without a chance of retaliating, their armor smoking. Katarn charged down the open stairwell, hurdling the unmoving corpses as he darted toward an open doorway. Another trooper sprang into view, his blaster chattering. The bolts wailed past Kyle as he rushed the man, splattering against the duracrete walls and sending a spray of stone shrapnel flying. One of the shots clipped Katarn's left arm, scorching through the minimal protection afforded by the softsuit, but Kyle pressed on, dropping the man with a tightly-grouped burst of fire to his chest.

Beyond the doorway was a small security control room and Kyle could tell at once that the alarm had been sounded. He glanced quickly at the monitor screens before shaking his head; shutting down the security grid was well beyond his skills. Keeping the repeater aimed at the open doorway with his right hand, he fumbled for a grenade with his left, wincing at the pulse of pain accompanying the movement. With practiced ease, he armed the thermal detonator and tossed it onto the bank of computers before darting toward the doorway and the stairwell.

Behind him, the room exploded.

He hit another cluster of helmetless troopers moments later. They were assembled on the next ledge, already arrayed in a standard ambush formation. A hail of blaster fire greeted his arrival, punching through the metal stairs and exploding against the wall. His repeater roaring, Kyle unleashed a storm of fire at their tight cluster, never slowing his headlong charge. Unprepared for what seemed to be an almost suicidal dash toward their position, the troopers were already backing away from him when he plowed into the middle of their formation. Four of them were already down from his wild shots, and the remaining three clearly hadn't been trained for close-in combat. They were down within seconds, all of them wearing startled expressions.

"Fierfek," Kyle growled, instinctively lapsing into some of the slang he'd learned during his time as a stormtrooper. His breath was coming rapidly as he looked over the ruin he'd wrought. His left arm felt like it was on fire, and he took a brief moment to apply some bacta spray from his medkit to the injury. Another open doorway beckoned and Katarn followed his instincts. It opened up into another control room, but Kyle's attention was drawn to the inspection hatches in the far corner. He grinned as he used the Force to rip one of them open. A geyser of steam shot up from the now exposed access point but quickly subsided. Sensing no threats in the immediate range of his extrasensory abilities, Kyle dropped through the open hatch.

He landed on a metal grille two to three meters down, and gave his surroundings a quick glance before choosing a direction and throwing himself forward into a loping run. Alarms were blaring overhead and Kyle paused long enough to let his face be caught on a poorly concealed holocam; he didn't know if this complex had any non-clones in it, but with all the Imperial hardware in the area, it seemed logical to assume they'd have threat analysis software running. His image would be logged and identified to their central command, which would _hopefully _cause them to divert resources to deal with him.

And the rest of his team would hit the location where defenders were drawn from.

The metal grille ended at a mag-sealed door, and Kyle shook his head in slight disgust. He glanced over the edge of the walkway before shrugging and reaching for the rappelling cord on his utility belt. A curious flicker in the Force caused him to hesitate and he narrowed his eyes at the sudden premonition. He glanced at the digital readout of remaining ammo – less than twenty shots remained – before sighing and dropping the repeater to the walkway. It wouldn't be of much use here anyway.

Scarlet lightsabers ignited, a pair of dark-skinned clones charged across the metal grille toward him, having evidently followed him. Giving them an almost feral grin, Kyle pulled Yun's lightsaber from his belt and thumbed it on. The clones slowed to a more cautious walk and kept identical eyes locked on him. Katarn let the Force flood into him, relaxing as it washed away pain and worry. He couldn't help but to wonder how the donor clone of the bald men before him had died. _Probably Vader_, he mused as he shifted his grip on the saber.

"Hello there," Kyle said as he let his senses expand. "I'm your morning wake-up call courtesy of Luke Skywalker." Without replying, the clones leaped toward him.

And Kyle met them head-on.

* * *

He was supposed to meet them nearly an hour ago.

From where he sat in the passenger seat of the groundspeeder, Talon Karrde shifted and glanced at the dashboard chronometer with poorly hidden anxiety. Shada gave him a sidelong glance, smirking slightly at his discomfort, but made no comment as she continued to focus on maneuvering the vehicle through the crowded streets of Tol Evina, the capital city of Kamparas. It was a beautiful world of grasslands, deep valleys and rolling hills, with a climate perfectly suited for human life. High overhead, the local star burned away the early morning mist and watched events unfold with passive disinterest.

Talon hated it.

At any other time, he would have enjoyed a world like this one. They had passed a number of magnificent-looking residences that Karrde could easily imagine living out his retirement in, and Kamparas' location in the Core placed it squarely within a number of lucrative shipping routes. There was even a massive jungle on the southern continent that reminded him of Myrkr. Unfortunately, there was one factor that mitigated all of the positives.

He sneezed.

"I hate this damned planet," Talon growled as his wiped his nose with a medicinal cloth. His voice sounded stuffed up even to his own ears, and his eyes felt like they had been dipped in sand.

"I like it," Sakhisakh remarked from where he sat in the back seat of the speeder. "The air is bracing and smells of flowers." He inhaled deeply – and loudly, Karrde noted – before chuckling when Talon fought back another sneeze. A moment later, Olmahk leaned forward into Talon's line of sight; the Noghri was holding a small cylinder of some sort.

"This should aid your allergic rhinitis," the medic said with a toothy smile.

"I'm _not _allergic to _anything_," Karrde retorted before sneezing again. All four of the Noghri chortled and even Shada gave him a sly smirk. Talon glowered. "How much farther?" he demanded.

It was nearly half an hour before they reached their destination and, by the time they arrived, Talon had long since abandoned any attempt at controlling his body's reaction to this environment. Olmakh's nasal inhaler helped significantly; it didn't completely inhibit the symptoms, but it certainly moderated them. His voice still sounded off, and Karrde's eyes itched nonstop, but at least he'd stopped sneezing.

There was no sign of the _Second Chance _as Shada slowed the speeder and Talon gave the building before them an appraising glance. It was a tall structure with a circular base and a long tower stemming from its center. Flashing aerial warning lights pulsed on and off at the top of the tower, but the entire complex had an air of neglect about it. Karrde frowned slightly as he climbed out of the stopped speeder.

"What's so important about this place?" Shada asked. She was already out of the vehicle and standing before it with her arms crossed.

"It was a Jedi training center," Skywalker announced as he stepped out of a darkened tunnel leading into the tower. "Jorus C'baoth trained here."

"The real one?" Karrde asked, and Luke gave him an odd look.

"Yes," he replied, narrowing his eyes as he did. "Do you have a cold?" Skywalker asked.

Shada and the Noghri laughed.

"Where's Mara?" Talon queried, ignoring the Jedi's question. Luke's eyes darted back and forth between Karrde and Shada before smiling tightly. The Jedi gestured toward the tunnel.

"Inside," he said. "She wanted to take a look at the obstacle course."

"Obstacle course?" Barkhimkh repeated, an eager light in his eyes. "I would like to see that."

"So would I," Shada added. She and two of the Noghri – Barkhimkh and Sakhisakh – immediately began walking in the direction Skywalker had indicated; all three of them were speaking softly in a language Talon didn't understand. He _did _recognize a few familiar names and bit back a smile. More than anything else in the galaxy, he desperately wanted to see Mara's face when she realized Shada had introduced the Noghri to _As the Galaxy Spins…_

"How was your vacation?" Skywalker asked, directing his question to Khabarakh and Olmahk. The Noghri team leader crossed his arms.

"Unexpected," he replied coolly. "If we did not know this was Jedi Jade's idea," Khabarakh added with an almost malicious glint of humor in his eyes, "we would think you had no use for us."

"But," Olmakh interjected quickly, "we understand the need for … privacy." Skywalker sighed.

"Not you too," he muttered as he turned toward the small tunnel.

It opened up into a large circular chamber that was ringed by a metal walkway. Dozens of different sized posts were set in the very center of the room, standing upright in what appeared to be a pool of foul-smelling water. Mara was balanced atop one of the posts, upside down with her left hand planted firmly on the column while her right arm was stretched out for balance. Her left leg in line with her arm, forming a straight line toward the ceiling, and her right pointed away from her body at a forty-five degree angle. Around her, a dozen small objects orbited around her unmoving form and Talon could see that her eyes were closed.

"Showoff," Luke muttered affectionately.

Crouching, Skywalker picked up a jagged piece of debris Karrde suspected had fallen from the less than stable-looking roof, and threw it in the direction of the motionless Jade. It froze in mid-air a meter or so before her and then slowly joined the other objects revolving around her. She didn't even open her eyes, but Talon could see her lips tighten in a smile.

"Is balance the only purpose of these poles?" Shada asked. She was standing at the lip of the brackish pool and made a face at its stench.

"Not entirely," Skywalker replied. He threw another piece of debris at Mara and it, like the previous one, froze before joining the rest spinning around her. "Maintaining one's balance while concentrating on other tasks is the point of this particular exercise," Luke continued. He pulled out a spherical object from the pocket of his cloak – a Marksman-H combat remote, Talon recognized – while appearing to search for another piece of roof debris. "There are also lightsaber techniques that can be adapted for use on these training columns." Skywalker winked at Karrde before slinging the remote at Mara.

Like the other objects, it froze a meter from her but almost instantly, it spat out a low-level stun bolt. Mara's reaction was blindingly fast; before Talon realized it, her lightsaber was in her right hand even as one of the chunks of debris darted to intercept the stun bolt. With a _snap-hiss_, the lightsaber ignited as Mara's left arm flexed – she was airborne a heartbeat later, twisting in mid-air like a cat while the debris that had been spinning around her fell into the water with loud splashes. The remote pursued her, spitting stun bolts she somersaulted over or blocked with the humming violet blade. Landing lightly on a different pole – she was awkwardly balanced on only a single foot – Jade blocked a series of rapid shots from the remote before leaping back. She hit the ground a half-step away from Skywalker and shot him a foul look.

"Well done," he remarked as he gestured for the remote. It stopped shooting and smacked into his hand a moment later. Mara shut down her saber. She wasn't even breathing hard Talon noticed with poorly hidden envy.

"Not good enough," Jade replied. "I lost control of the debris field," she said with a slight frown. Her annoyance dissolved as she gave Skywalker a smile. "The remote was a nice touch though," she said.

"Gotta keep you on your toes," Luke retorted. Talon rolled his eyes – he had no desire to watch another round of Skywalker-Jade flirting, not with his head filled with wool – and cleared his throat.

"Do you have a cold?" Mara asked, her emerald eyes twinkling. She gave Shada a quick nod, and then frowned at the sight of Barkhimkh and Sakhisakh scrambling up a pair of the training columns. "Please, tell me it's okay to give them a little Force push," she said softly to Skywalker. He laughed lightly as the two Noghri reached the tops of their respective poles and began to balance there.

"Revenge is of the dark side," Luke replied. He gave Khabarakh a sidelong glance who was watching the antics of the two younger Noghri with a dark frown. "Here," the Jedi said as he offered the training remote. Instantly, Khabarakh's eyes lit up.

"Were you expecting to find something of value here?" Shada asked as she joined them. "Jedi artifacts perhaps?"

"No," Skywalker replied instantly. "This facility was abandoned by the Jedi a few years before the Clone Wars. Anything left behind would have been looted long ago."

"Then why the interest?"

"We need to expand our training repertoire," Mara said almost absently. She was watching the two Noghri atop the training poles but Karrde wasn't sure if she was actually _seeing _them. It was as if she was looking through them or simply just facing their direction while looking at some unfathomable Force secret. "Luke's training was haphazard at best," she added without rancor, "and I already had a lot of the necessary skills under my belt." She didn't react when Khabarakh threw the remote at Barkhimkh and Sakhisakh. "Eventually," Mara said, "we'll have more students to teach so we have to be ready."

"So you're creating a training regimen now," Shada said with an approving nod. A loud splash drew their attention to where Barkhimkh had fallen into the filthy water. To Karrde's surprise, the Noghri was laughing hysterically as he scrambled toward the edge of the pool.

"We must be prepared," Mara murmured, his voice and expression distant. Skywalker was studying her so intently it was almost frightening. "_I _must be prepared," Jade added.

"Mara Jade, Jedi Master," Talon said with a quick grin. "Is the galaxy ready for such a terrifying prospect?" In response, Mara gave him a sour look. She opened her left hand, holding it horizontal to the ground, and a fist-sized rock jumped up into her grip. Without warning, she threw the chunk of stone at Talon. Lightning fast, Shada's hand shot out and caught the rock mere centimeters before it struck him.

"Nobody likes a smart ass, Karrde," Mara remarked flatly. She glowered at the two dripping Noghri as they stalked Khabarakh, clearly intent on throwing him into the filthy pool. "I am _not _letting them on my ship like that," she growled. "Not until they've been hosed down and through at least two decon cycles."

"You're going to make a fantastic mother some day," Talon grumbled as Shada dropped the rock Jade had thrown onto the floor. A riot of emotions crossed Mara's face so quickly Karrde wasn't able to identify them all. There was anger and sadness and something that looked vaguely like despair. It was gone in a moment, so quickly Talon wasn't sure if he'd actually seen the emotions, and her usual mask of dispassion was back in place. She turned away from them and stormed toward the trio of Noghri. Skywalker's eyes followed her, a tight frown on his lips. Talon exchanged a quick glance with Shada; she nodded in understanding of his silent request and slid away to join Mara. "Did I say something wrong?" Karrde asked.

"You said you had some information for us?" Luke said in response. The non-answer was quite telling and Talon filed it away for future reflection before nodding. He pulled a dataslate out of his pants' pocket.

"One of my employees," he said, "has some information you might be interested in." He offered the 'slate to Skywalker who accepted it and began scanning its contents.

"Kuat?" Luke asked with a groan. "Why did it have to be Kuat?"

"Dravis has been keeping an eye on it for me," Talon said. "Since this Lumiya person is fielding Eta-2's," he continued, "it seemed like a good idea to watch for anyone ordering new parts or components to repair damaged ships."

"Follow the money," Skywalker noted, and Karrde nodded.

"Normally, I'd have Dravis just send me the intel," Talon said, "but it cost a lot of money to get him into place and-"

"You don't want to ruin his cover," Mara declared as she silently rejoined them. She yanked the dataslate from Luke's fingers without asking his permission and studied the small screen.

"If you think I'm going to pretend to be a telbun," Skywalker said flatly, referencing the virtual male slaves of Kuati aristocracy, "you can forget it. I'm not going through _that_ again." Jade gave him an amused smirk.

"Why not?" she asked. "You've already got plenty of experiencing doing what I tell you." Her eyes were dancing and Luke gave her a look Karrde had learned to recognize as a precursor for more flirting. Talon sighed.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

It had already been a long day when his final appointment arrived.

From behind the hand-crafted Alderaani desk that dominated his otherwise stark office, Gilad Pellaeon, High Consul of Military Operations for the Second Imperium, watched the approach of newly promoted Admiral Daala with no hint of the dismay simmering within his gut. He had hoped that, by constantly rescheduling this meeting, he would have ultimately convinced her to give up on this fool's errand and focus on her job. If anything, though, the delays only served to intensify her efforts.

"Thank you for giving me this opportunity, Your Excellency," Daala said in greeting. She assumed the position of attention before his desk until Gilad gestured for her to take the seat in front of him. "I know you're busy, sir," she continued as she sat. Pellaeon blew out an annoyed breath.

"Get to the point, Natasi," he ordered. He was tired, sore from sitting in this chair all day reading reports, and so damned hungry he suspected he could eat a rancor. One thing he _definitely _didn't have time for was useless pleasantries from a woman not known for diplomacy.

"Yes, sir," Daala replied. She slid a datapad across the desk toward him and Gilad fought the urge to frown. "I was asked," she said hesitantly, "to present this to you."

"By Calrissian." Pellaeon's dislike was clear in his voice and he pinned her with a dark look. He'd warned her when the first rumors had reached his ears about her dalliance with the ex-Rebel and now it appeared his worst expectations were coming true. She had insisted even then that there _wasn't_ any association with the Socorran governor, and had been quite aggressive in her defense: after having spent most of her entire career fighting insinuations that she had been Tarkin's lover, she'd pointed out, she certainly wasn't going to be stupid enough to ruin what gains she'd made by allowing herself to be suborned by the eminently dangerous Lando Calrissian.

Gilad still wasn't sure if he fully believed her.

"He relayed the message to me, sir," Daala admitted. She met his gaze with an expression of unconcern. "But he wasn't the originator of it." Against his better judgment, Gilad glanced at the 'pad and skimmed its contents.

"Risant Industries?" he asked with a frown. The name wasn't familiar to him. Daala nodded.

"A manufacturing consortium based out of the Corellian Sector," she said. "They have a solid reputation for honesty and efficiency," the youngest admiral in the Fleet added. "When I was in liaison with the Diktat's office," she said, "they were at the top of my short list for Imperial acquisition." It was said with casual indifference, though Gilad knew it had been she had carefully picked her words. She always did.

"And?" He dropped the datapad back onto his desk and leaned back in his chair to study the slim woman before him. Just over forty, she was only beginning to show signs of her age; streaks of silver were beginning to appear in her reddish-brown hair but her face was absent of the usual wrinkles. Had he had anything less than complete trust in her abilities, Pellaeon would have agreed with the usual complaints about her: she was entirely too young for her rank.

"They're interested in expanding into Imperial space, sir." She shifted awkwardly under his eyes, but pressed on. "I know this is the sort of thing Moff Tavira would normally handle," Daala said, "but since it came to me and I work for you, I thought I should bring it to your attention."

"So noted," Gilad said. "And it is High Consul, now, not Moff."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." Daala smirked. "Old habits and all, Admiral," she said, and Pellaeon smiled at her use of his old rank.

"I will pass this on to Consul Tavira's office," he said. "This lies within her bailiwick anyway." He steepled his fingers. "Thank you, Admiral," he said.

"Thank you, sir." Daala rose to her feet, clearly recognizing the dismissal in his words. Before she reached the door, she faltered and half-turned to face him. "Admiral?" she asked hesitantly, and Gilad gestured for her to ask the question obviously on her mind. "Sir, I've heard you reactivated the Special Weapons branch."

"You heard correctly," Pellaeon said calmly. He watched as she fought back a frown.

"With all due respect, sir," Daala asked, assuming a position of attention as she spoke, "why? I thought the point of you being in charge now was to avoid that kind of insanity." Gilad offered her a tight smile he didn't entirely feel.

"I'm not planning on building another Death Star, Natasi," he told her wryly. When she continued to study him, grim concern in her eyes, Pellaeon continued. "We are conducting an extensive study of all of the programs that were underway to determine if any are worth salvaging."

"I see." Daala's words were flat, almost an indictment, and Gilad knew exactly what she was thinking since he generally agreed with her. The atrocities wrought in the Empire's name – Alderaan, Caamas, and Falleen to name just a few – had almost irreparably stained the honor and reputation of the military, and few still serving wanted a return to that madness.

"If I didn't need you where you're at," Pellaeon said, "I would have transferred you to Special Weapons." He gave her a smile, hoping she wouldn't see through the lie he'd just told her.

"I'm sorry for second-guessing you, sir," the young admiral said, breaking eye contact as she looked at the floor almost sheepishly. Gilad released a careful breath, suddenly sickened at the sort of man he had become. "I should have known you were better than that," she added, her words slamming home like a gut punch.

"The _Resilience _is still missing, Admiral," Pellaeon said with no hint of the self-loathing swimming in his stomach. Daala gave him a sharp nod.

"Thank you for your time, sir," she said.

A moment later, she was gone.

Gilad leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for a long moment, struggling against the urge to throw something against the wall. He hated lying to good officers like Daala, hated playing this game of deceit and manipulation. Pain lanced through his stomach as his body recoiled against the stress he was putting himself under.

"Am I doing the right thing?" he wondered aloud, his voice so soft it could barely be heard. In response to the comment, the program he'd installed upon his deskcomp activated; without warning, a hologram materialized atop his desk and he forced himself to look at it, hating the very sight of the image.

It was an image of him from many months earlier.

"Because the Moff's Council has proven itself incapable of adequately leading the Empire," the holographic Pellaeon was saying, "I have officially dissolved it. Military martial law is in effect on every world in the Empire." Gilad grimaced at how self-righteous the hologram looked, how confident. "We will put right the mistakes made by these political fools who have betrayed the Empire, no matter the cost."

The words had come from his mouth, from his lips, but they were not his own. Even now, months after the fact, Pellaeon could remember the horrifying sensation of being a prisoner in his own mind. His every action had been dictated, as if he were a droid with a restraining bolt. He had fought against saying those treasonous words, had desperately tried to reassert control over himself, but nothing had worked. Pellaeon closed his eyes against the surge of unfocused rage and crippling terror that accompanied thoughts of Torul. There had been no collar, no bars, no implant, but he'd been a slave nonetheless.

By a Force user.

"Never again," he growled as he rose to his feet. He slashed his hand through the miniature hologram, deactivating it with the motion. Face set in a fierce scowl, he stormed toward the private turbolift half concealed on the far end of the office. The control pad chirped as he input authorization code and, without a sound, the door slid open.

A full minute later, he stepped out of the lift and into the lobby of the Special Weapons branch. Four stormtroopers were flanking the lift, weapons loaded and raised, and Gilad presented his code cylinder. He glowered at how long it took the lead trooper to scan the cylinder, and then snapped it out of the soldier's hands with a touch more force than necessary once he was cleared for entry. The clatter of his boots against the slick white floor echoed loudly, almost booming through the seemingly empty corridor. Holocams monitored him, but he ignored them as he strode quickly to a distant hatch.

A spray of steam and concentrated air surrounded him as Gilad stepped through the hatch and entered the lab beyond. He grimaced at the stench of the decontamination system and crossed his arms as the lead biologist scrambled toward him. A human easily ten years Pellaeon's senior, Yush Baskalar was striking in appearance. Short and completely hairless, he fidgeted awkwardly and seemed utterly incapable of making eye contact.

"Report," Gilad ordered.

"We're still examining the data, Your Excellency," Baskalar slurred, his guttural Outer Rim accent so thick it was hard to understand him. "There are several promising directions this research could take."

"Can you provide me what I want?" Pellaeon demanded. He pinned the scientist before him with a fierce gaze.

"I do not know," Baskalar admitted. He gestured in the direction of the principal laboratory. "You have overwhelmed my team with the amount of data you provided," the man added, and Pellaeon grunted. He had been afraid that would be the case when he had dumped petabytes of data salvaged from the late Emperor's storehouse of black projects. "It will take months to sift through it all."

"You don't _need _to sift through it all," Gilad said sharply. He loomed over the diminutive man and glared at him. "Get me what I want," he instructed coldly, "or I will have you shot." He paused for effect. "You have one week to give me results."

Without waiting for a mumbled explanation for why that wasn't enough time, Pellaeon whirled away. He barely waited for the hatch to open all the way before he was retracing his steps to the lift, his thoughts racing. If Baskalar wasn't able to accomplish this task, Gilad knew he would need to find someone else, someone more capable but just as unquestioning. It was a pity Evir Derricote was dead, he mused.

His hand trembled as he reached for the summons button on the lift and Pellaeon glared at it. The shakes were new – they hadn't been there before Torul had used his unnatural powers to control him – but were a constant reminder to Gilad that he was doing what was necessary. No one else would ever have to be assaulted the way he was, not if Baskalar's research paid off. He would go down as a monster to some, a hero to others, but Pellaeon silently swore he would not stop until his task was complete.

He would find a way to kill the Force.

* * *

**Elemarth:** Well, this is as "explicit" as I write. There will be more hints of sexual innuendo, but nothing beyond that. Mostly I'm a "butt kicking" type of guy, but I like to sneak in some hints of romance here and there...

**LordoftheTrees: **Thanks! I'm pretty partial to my action scenes, but I was pretty happy with how that L/M scene turned out...

**Lilith: **Will try...

**wbsaw: **Think of the skinsuit as a _really _tight, flesh-toned bodysuit that is "mostly" transparent but breathes. Star Wars ultra-tech rules. It just seemed logical to presume that Mara's old job was a _very _dangerous one and based on Luke's retaining of scars from the Wampa attack, bacta can't heal everything. However, due to the nature of her job, she would need a way to conceal said scars. There's nothing sinister about it...

**Blackdragon189: **I came up with the name Torious many, _many _moons ago for a SW: RPG I was running. We lost a player (he moved out of state) and his wannabe Jedi PC was secretly on the fast-track toward Darkness, so when I introduced a new group of Sithly types to kick my PCs around, that character was Darth Torious, a very Darth Maul-like villain who beat the living crap out of the two new Jedi PCs. I've always liked the name so I recycled it...

**Kyuubi123: **Thanks!

**shurtugal88: **Hey, I know the feeling. I was supposed to be working on a history paper (which I ended up titling "The Unseen War" ... though there _was_ a ": President Woodrow Wilson and the Call for Allied Intervention Into Russia, 1918" afterwards...)

**LordRevan: **Well ... 4 months plus the year that _Tyranny Reborn _took ... plus the year that _Sidereal _took ... but 2 years, 4 months is certainly better than the 10 years of profic...

**Deja: **I can't recall if Torious was originally short for Notorious or Victorious ... either way, it works, right? And how come everybody focuses on the skinsuit?

**Alexian Cale: **Re: appearance of a Palpatine clone. In a word: no. My reasoning is pretty simple: the entire cloning stuff here is due to Palpy's machinations and he's far too paranoid to allow his genetic code be examined by potential traitors. After all, it would be simple (for SW tech) to simply use that information to engineer some sort of biological weapon specifically targeted for him. The "Anakin" clone, however, was likely a back-up plan in the event Vader's injuries were simply too much.

**PhantomKnight88: **For me, it's hard to buy L/M getting together any time sooner than this. She's got a lot of anger and hate to work through. But ten years is flat-out ridiculous. As to the skinsuits, I think I was vaguely influenced by the original _Ghost in the Shell_ movie and how the cyborg major (name eludes me) seemed almost nude, but wasn't quite. Beyond that, I can't recall "borrowing" it from anywhere (though I'd be a fool to claim I originally created it since I'm sure someone else has used the idea...)

**lukelover1222: **Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Replies at bottom. Sorry for the delay. Real life gang tackled me, and the final scene of this chapter hasn't wanted to cooperate (I'm _still_ not satisfied with it, BTW, but the original POV character - Han - simply would _not_ cooperate with me no matter how hard I tried).

* * *

**Chapter 3**

THE Force was definitely not with them.

His eyes stinging from the thick smoke shrouding the room, Luke Skywalker looked up from the task before him and shot Mara a grim look. Shy of a miracle, he didn't know how they would be able to get out of this situation and he was vaguely disappointed that she didn't seem to share his worry. It figured, though. Over the years, she'd certainly gotten out of situations more dire than the one before him.

He was about to win another hand of sabacc.

Through the Force, Luke could sense Mara's wry amusement at the intensity he was showing for the game, though she was far too well trained to reveal it to anyone else. He had to wonder, though, if she was finding it as liberating to be someone else for a short time as he was – they were currently Corran and Arica Antilles, a reprobate card shark and his retired dancer wife who doubled as a good luck charm. Initially, Mara had been rather leery of Luke attempting this role, but twenty straight losses to him at cards had changed her mind. Her competitive nature hadn't yet allowed her to forgive him for defeating her so soundly, but Luke had hit upon the fantastic notion of shifting blame to Han, Wedge and Lando. They had, after all, taught him everything he knew about cards.

Unfortunately, they had apparently taught him too well. Since joining this table six hours earlier, Luke had consistently won, and to prevent drawing more attention than they wanted, had resorted to folding even when he knew he had the stronger cards. He wasn't sure if it was Han's cutthroat instruction or his skill in the Force, but the four sentients sharing the table with him – not including Mara or the dealer – were like an open book to him. The Gungan on his left, for example, was cheating with the Duro on Luke's right, but neither had particularly strong hands at the moment. Of the two other humans at the table, one of them had already folded and the other …

"I'll see your fifty," the man said calmly as he tossed five chips into the hand pot, "and raise you another fifty." A murmur of conversation accompanied the bold bet – the man had, after all, just bet a hundred thousand credits.

Glancing down at his cards, Luke barely managed to hide a wince at what he saw. Short of a miracle – preferably in the form of Imperial taskforce – there was absolutely no way for him to lose this hand. The Idiot's Array was unbeatable, and he knew his opponents wouldn't react well to losing, not with the sheer amount of money already in the pot. _Keep a low profile, _Mara had warned him before they stepped into the casino.

"Too rich for your blood?" the man asked as Luke hesitated, and Skywalker replied with a cocky grin he'd seen Han use when the Corellian had no idea how he was going to get out of a sticky situation. Mara's mental laughter rippled through Luke's mind.

"Not at all," he retorted. He knew the man had a very strong hand – all of the gambler's tells indicated a nearly unbeatable one – but there was a sense of … wrongness about him that Luke didn't like. Would this idiot go for a concealed weapon when he lost? Or maybe try to throw a punch which could dislodge Skywalker's disguise? Not for the first time, Luke tried to keep from groaning.

He _really _hated Kuat.

They had been on-planet for nearly two days now, and Luke was eager to get off-world as soon as possible. To avoid compromising Dravis' cover, Mara had suggested a dead drop in one of the upper-scale casinos, and Talon's agent had readily agreed; the most he would need to do, after all, was show up, drink overpriced alcohol, gamble away some money that didn't really belong to him in the first place, and then leave the data at a prearranged location. Luke and Mara would pick it up and be off-planet with no one the wiser.

It was such a simple plan that Luke should have _known _it wouldn't work.

Within minutes of their entrance into the casino, Mara's finely honed danger sense had begun acting up though neither of them could quite pin down why. Dravis had then been delayed – a random inspection at the Kuat Drive Yards subsidiary he was working at forced him to reschedule his appearance at the casino. And, to top it all off, Luke had started to draw attention with his victories.

Losing, it turned out, was a lot tougher than it looked.

"Well hurry up and bet," the gambler ordered as he shot another leer at Mara. She ignored it, but Luke found himself gritting his teeth in annoyance. He _really _didn't want to lose to this idiot, but there looked to be no other solution. At the very moment he started to announce that he was folding, the gambler spoke again. "And how much does your woman charge by the hour?"

A flash of anger pulsed off Mara, but her vacuous smile didn't waver in the slightest. Her eyes, however, narrowed slightly and she pinned the gambler with a heated look that Luke suspected could melt durasteel. His own temper flaring at the insult directed at her, Skywalker reacted without thought.

"All in," he announced as he began pushing his entire pile of chips into the house pot. Gasps erupted from the audience, and even Mara turned to look at Luke with a startled expression on her face. He ignored it as he locked gazes with the gambler. "Three million, two hundred and ninety-one thousand, nine hundred and seventy-two," Luke said before smiling tightly. "Unless _that's _too rich for _your _blood," he added, recalling one of Han's earliest lessons. _The quickest way to make a man do something stupid_, the Corellian had told him, _is to imply he doesn't have the stones to do it._

It worked.

"Your loss," the gambler replied as he shoved his own pile of chips forward. The remaining two players folded at once, backing out of the game before they were wiped out. Her eyes bugging out, the dealer checked her readout and swallowed at the money now on the table: it was just under seven million credits and only one man would walk away with it.

"Pure sabacc," the man crowed a moment later as he threw his cards down on the table. His jubilation died as Luke revealed his own hand to the loud applause of the audience. A look of abject defeat stamped on his florid face, the gambler collapsed in his seat.

"Cash out," Luke said to the dealer as he stood. Before she could reply, Mara grabbed a handful of chips – at least sixty thousand worth by Luke's estimation – and handed them to the woman who accepted with a broad smile. A moment later, Skywalker was striding away from the table, Mara clutching his arm with a false smile on her lips.

He tried not to wince at the pressure she was applying to his bicep.

"What part of the phrase 'low profile' did you not understand?" she hissed through a false smile as they made their way through the audience congratulating them on the victory.

"That piece of Hutt slime deserved it," Luke replied equally softly as he steered them toward a small dining table. He handed her the credit chit representing the winnings, trusting her to know what to do with them; it hadn't taken him long to realize she had a much better head for numbers when it came to money. "Besides," he added with a smile, "even a loser like Corran Antilles has to hit big some time." Holding the chit as if it was a venomous snake about to bite her, Mara gave him a flat, unamused look as she sank into her chair. Whatever biting comment she was about to make died on her lips as she glanced away, reaching up to scratch her left ear with her right hand. Luke recognized the gesture at once.

Dravis had finally arrived.

_Finally, _Luke thought as he watched the man's entrance in the reflection of a polished obsidian ornament the size of an X-Wing. Dravis was stockier than Skywalker recalled, no doubt a by-product of living a more sedentary life than he was accustomed to, but was dressed impeccably. Pausing just beyond the turbolift, the ex-smuggler looked up to gaze at the upper levels of the Casino, a fascinated expression on his face. Luke understood the feeling entirely.

Doubling as a state-of-the-art hotel complex and a high-rolling casino, the Avrosi Towers were a marvel to behold. Climbing to over a kilometer in height, the distinctive tri-tower shape were a prominent and easily distinguishable landmark that dominated the lesser buildings in the city. Each of the three towers had over three hundred floors, with the top twenty floors reserved for special clientele … though the exact definition of "special" hadn't been released to the public. Every one of the luxurious rooms had a retractable balcony that could double as an observation point to look out over the city or a docking port for an airspeeder; the presence of these ports eliminated the need for a large parking facility and allowed someone to discreetly check-in without ever having to visit the main lobby.

The Casino Avrosi itself was a fourteen-floor complex held suspended between the three towers by six immense repulsorlifts and dozens of redundant backups; although it was capable of vertical motion, the Casino generally rotated slowly in place. Mara had instantly identified this rotation as a security measure – the entrance and exit of personnel could be carefully monitored in this way – but Luke recognized it as more of a minor distraction for the gamblers. The house, after all, didn't care to lose.

All fourteen levels of the Casino were alive with activity. Lifts, both open and closed, were available for patrons to visit the upper floors, and waitstaff scurried to and fro atop personal hoverdisks, bringing refreshments and food to those who ordered it. Security personnel were also prominent throughout, and many of them could be seen loitering in visible spots on their own hoverdisks.

"You cheated," a surly voice announced, and Luke sighed as he turned his attention back to the gambler he had cleaned out minutes earlier. He locked gazes with the man.

"You should go home," Luke suggested calmly, "and rethink your life."

"I should go home," the gambler repeated, "and rethink my life." He turned away.

"Dammit, Dravis," Mara murmured a moment later. Luke glanced back at the reflection and fought back a smile at sight of the ex-smuggler successfully flirting with a fellow barfly. Skywalker was about to offer his thoughts on the man's approach when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Instinctively, his hand went for his lightsaber…

Only to realize it wasn't there. Luke bit back a curse at his stupidity; to maintain their cover, both he and Mara had been forced to leave their sabers with the Noghri who were currently hidden outside the casino, providing overwatch and waiting to rush in as back up if necessary. There had been no way to get the distinctive weapons past security without ruining their disguises, and the presence of droids at the checkpoints made things even more difficult.

A moment later, a loud _crack _echoed through the casino and the lights died. The casino made a stomach-lurching drop, eliciting hundreds of terrified screams, but the backups caught the complex almost instantly. Secondary lighting systems began to activate, and Luke gave Mara a quick look.

"Dravis is gone," she announced as she applied pressure to one of the rings on her left hand; it was an activator beacon, and sent a com-pulse to Khabarakh informing him they needed his team.

"That can't be a coincidence," Luke said as Mara stood.

"We're leaving," she told him sharply. "This is a set-up to grab Dravis," Mara continued as Luke quickly jumped to his feet and began to follow her. Her instincts in these sorts of situations were rarely wrong, and he'd learned to trust her implicitly. "If we hurry," she added, "we might be able to beat the distraction and catch the honey trap."

"What distraction?" Luke asked.

"Nobody move!" an artificially-enhanced voice bellowed from behind them.

"_That _distraction," Mara remarked wryly. She didn't slow her pace, but instead angled toward an arriving turbolift car. The doors slid open and a trio of blaster-wielding, mask-wearing sentients sprang out.

"Move and you-" the lead figure – a human, by his proportions – started to say. Mara was already on them.

The first of the men fell before he even realized he was in danger, his legs knocked out from under him by a blindingly fast sweeping kick Luke knew was coming but still didn't see; as the man struck the ground, Mara was lunging toward her second victim, twisting inside the range of his arm and smashing her elbow into the man's face. He shrieked and dropped his weapon as his hands instinctively went to the broken nose now gushing crimson. Eyes wide, the third figure tried to bring his weapon around to bear, but Mara was quicker; lashing out with her left arm, she caught his wrist and twisted – _hard_. He almost somersaulted as his body followed the direction she wanted him to go, and his body slammed into the first man who was trying to rise. Almost leisurely, she bent, picked up one of the blasters and tossed another to Luke before stepping into the lift. Skywalker followed her and waited until the door closed to speak.

"Have I told you how scary you are?" he asked as he changed the blaster's setting to stun. Mara flashed him a grin.

"Don't you forget it, Farmboy," she said in reply.

The lift doors slid open a few moments later, and both of them were ready. Luke sent a Force slam into the waiting bandits, sending all four sprawling, and Mara pumped several stun bolts into them as they tried to get up. Without hesitation, she darted toward the now unmanned security station and keyed in a command. She cursed a heartbeat later.

"I'm locked out," she growled, smacking the computer console with her hand as if that would convince it to reveal its secrets. Luke started to reply, but the sound of blasterfire and screams caused him to glance up. The security forces – atop their repulsor-disks – were engaging the bandits, and Skywalker's palms itched. As a Jedi, he should be up there, bringing law to the lawless and helping to defend the innocent. Instead, he was here, hiding his identity so he could stop a larger threat. _When did all of this get so damned complicated? _

"Where the hell are they?" Mara demanded, her words causing him to look back in her direction. She was seated before the computer, fingers flying as she tried to break into the hotel data system. Though she was skilled in slicing, she'd never claimed to be the best and generally left it to sentients who actually enjoyed it. "Figures the one time I need Sakhisakh," she added as she smacked the computer once again in frustration, "he's not here."

"On the contrary," Khabarakh announced as the four Noghri stepped through a doorway leading to the kitchen, "we are here now." He gestured sharply with one hand, and the other three darted forward. Sakhisakh slid easily into the seat that Mara vacated while Barkhimkh and Olmahk took up defensive positions at corners. They were armed, Luke realized, with Stokhli spray sticks. Satisfied at the speed in which his team deployed, Khabarakh pulled three lightsabers from his belt – Luke's, Mara's and Anakin's – and offered them. Smiling at how quickly Mara snatched the latter two and secured them to her belt, Luke gratefully accepted his weapon.

"I'm in," Sakhisakh announced, his voice tinged with pride.

"Already?" Mara asked as she leaned down to look at the screen. "Maybe you're good for something after all," she added.

"It is unwise," Sakhisakh said with a straight face, "to insult the slicer. He can do very bad things in response."

"There," Mara said, pointing to something on the screen before her. "Those two. Find out where they're going."

* * *

Things weren't going as planned.

A frown on his face, Corran Horn gave his co-pilot a quick glance, observing instantly that she too appeared as worried as he did, before refocusing his attention on the flight controls of the Ghtroc 720 tasked for this mission. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing that he hadn't listened to Colonel Katarn's proposal and had actually returned to the Rogues once he was cleared for active duty. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, a sure sign that something was about to go wrong, and he knew this piece of junk wouldn't last long in a fight.

This was the sixth anti-cloning operation they'd conducted in the last two weeks, and Corran couldn't help but to wonder if their luck had finally run out. Already, the orbital facility that was their destination had locked onto them with automated targeting systems, and Horn didn't want to guess what kind of firepower the station had at its disposal. This was supposed to have been an easy op – show up, provide the proper clearance code, dock, and then let Katarn and Solusar go to work – but from the moment they'd dropped out of lightspeed, nothing had gone right. Orbital defenses had locked onto them as expected, but there still hadn't been a request for the code.

"I have a very bad feeling about this," Corran muttered.

His arms crossed and a dark frown on his face, Colonel Katarn stood a half-step behind Corran's seat. The colonel was wearing streamlined combat armor clearly modeled on a stormtrooper variant, and was bristling with weapons; he had at least four vibroblades, a half-dozen grenades or thermal detonators, a pair of blaster pistols, two lightsabers, a concussion rifle, and medium repeater. Frankly, it was a wonder the man could stand, let alone walk or run.

But then, Kyle Katarn had a reputation as a walking arsenal.

Of the rest of the members of the colonel's team – the so-called Vornskrs, named for a quadruped native to Myrkr that hunted by way of the Force – Corran already knew two of them before they joined the unit. Ooryl had long been his wingman with the Rogues, and Horn trusted the Gand Findsman with his life. Because this operation had originally called for insertion onto an Imperial facility, Ooryl had remained behind, though if Corran knew him as well as he suspected, the Gand was probably in his X-Wing, lurking just out of sensor range in case they needed him. Horn knew less about his current co-pilot, Tyria Sarkin, though her background in Wraith Squadron and Wedge's personal assurances of her reliability did a lot to assuage Corran's concerns. That she had been an Antarian Ranger before joining the New Republic was yet another recommendation in her favor.

Unfortunately, the rest of the Vornskrs were x-factors to him. Each of them had been vouched for by Colonel Katarn, but until Corran got a better read on them, he doubted he'd be able to fully trust them. Kam Solusar, for example, set off all sorts of alarms, though they were the 'run away now' kind; just like Katarn, the man was a walking, talking killing machine who had served in the Imperial stormtrooper corps for nearly ten years before breaking away from them after Grand Admiral Thrawn ordered him to Wayland to participate in the cloning operation. Unwilling to obey what he perceived as a direct assault upon his personal privacy, he'd defected, and was still struggling with the decade of mental conditioning intended to keep him a perfect drone.

Solusar's usual partner-in-crime was the silver-eyed Tionne. A tiny slip of a woman, she was easily the weakest of the entire unit in terms of Force potential or combat ability but possessed a singular ability to farsee that simply had no equal. Her every word seemed to have some hidden meaning, often not becoming clear until days or even weeks after the fact. Even worse, though, was how she remained blithely oblivious to the effect she had on everyone; only Solusar seemed immune, and their relationship seemed strangely symbiotic – Kam was grounded in the now, while she was always looking to the future.

The last member of the team was the Force witch, Kirana Ti. Daughter of a Kiffar Jedi and a Dathomiri woman, Kirana had inherited her father's gift of psychometry which allowed her to glean useful insights into the past of inanimate objects through the Force. Though she still clung to many of the more primitive aspects of her upbringing – her use of a spear, for example, or the rancor skin clothes of her tribe when not on a mission – she had eagerly adopted blaster weapons and possessed a fascination with vibroweapons that bordered on the frightening.

Though it was a motley crew, it was also a highly skilled and dangerous unit. So far, in the five months they had been active, the Vornskrs had only lost two members, Brakiss and Gantoris, both to cloned Jedi. Corran had lost track of how many of the flesh robots they'd slain.

"Try it again," Katarn ordered abruptly, his eyes locked on the still distant station hanging between them and the green-blue planet below. Corran shrugged and keyed the transmitter.

"Command station," he said into the comm., "this is ST-336. Code clearance amber. Please respond." Static answered them as it had the four times previously, and Corran glanced back at the colonel.

"Take us in," Katarn decided. "Slow and careful." He half-turned and addressed his next comments to the rest of the team currently assembled behind the cockpit door. "Gear up, people."

As they crept closer to their destination, Corran was able to get a better look at it. For a space station this deep in contested space, it was an unimpressive sight. The central hub of the orbital facility was a relatively flat disc, with eight massive solar arrays extending away from this structure at equidistant intervals. It instantly reminded him of an arachnid, albeit a metal one. He frowned at some of the surface irregularities and studied the sensors for a moment.

"That looks like damage," Tyria Sarkin said from the co-pilot's chair.

"It is," Corran remarked off the new data crawling across his sensor scope. "Pretty severe too," he added. "I'm detecting minimal life support, hull breaches on multiple decks-"

"Life signs?" Katarn interrupted flatly. Corran shrugged.

"Can't tell," he replied. "Radiation levels are pretty high, though." He looked up from the sensor display and studied the station. "Not much could survive on that thing for very long."

"I guess somebody beat us to it," Tyria said. "But who?"

"That's what I want to know," the colonel declared. "Find us a viable entry point, Horn."

Worry still swimming in his stomach, Corran applied more acceleration and altered their approach angle. The threat alert continued to pulse, warning them that the station's defense system still had their disguised freighter in a target lock, but the danger now seemed negligible at best; Corran doubted any of the facility's weapons still worked. As they drew closer, the damage became more apparent – entire sections of the station were exposed to space and charred corpses seared beyond any hope of recognition had slowly begun to orbit the facility.

With a loud groan, the freighter's boarding tube made hard contact with one of the station's airlocks. A loud chime echoed throughout the Ghtroc, alerting the rest of the team that they could proceed, and Corran could hear the hiss of the vacuum-sealed door opening. Moments later, Solusar's raspy voice echoed across the comline.

"Docking bay clear."

"All right, people," Katarn said calmly, "let's get to work. Horn, Sarkin, remain on-station until I give the all-clear. The rest of you, with me."

"Copy," Corran said in response before glancing at Tyria. "Did you bring the cards?" he asked with a smirk.

Ten long minutes passed before Katarn contacted them again. When the colonel's voice finally crackled through the comline, Corran exhaled a sigh of utter relief.

"All clear," Katarn said. "Sarkin, remain on-station in case we need a hot extraction. Horn, I need your astromech."

"We're on our way," Corran replied.

"Why do I have to stay with the ship?" Tyria muttered softly as Horn stood. She gave him a sour look. "I _always _stay with the ship."

"Don't argue with the scary person," Corran suggested. "Whistler, you ready?" The green astromech chirped an affirmative reply and rolled toward the boarding tube.

The moment Corran exited the Ghtroc, he wished it had been Sarkin summoned instead of him. Even with the rebreather covering his mouth and nose, he could smell the stench of scorched flesh. Flickering force screens and sealed blast doors protected them from the hard vacuum outside the orbital tomb, but Corran couldn't shake the feeling that something big had taken place here.

The command center was a wreck, with corpses strewn everywhere. From where he crouched before a body, Katarn gestured to a mostly intact computer. Whistler recognized his cue immediately, and quickly jacked in to begin downloading whatever was still intact.

"Tell me what you see," Katarn ordered as he straightened from his crouch. This was one of the reasons he'd recruited Corran: Horn's background as a Corellian Security agent gave him forensic training none of the other team members possessed, and Katarn utilized those skills at every opportunity. Corran spent a long moment studying the command center, noting the damage, the placement of the bodies, the absence of blood…

"One person," he decided, "highly skilled, trained in the Force and using a lightsaber."

"Agreed." The colonel glowered at the damage. "This isn't the work of the Jedi clones," he said darkly. "It's too … focused, too deliberate."

"A dead man did this," Tionne announced as she swept into the room, flanked by the imposing Solusar. He was without a helmet for once, and Corran hide a wince at the old scar marring the right side of the man's face. The imposing ex-commando's cold blue eyes locked onto the colonel.

"Central computers are slagged," Solusar said without preamble. "Looks like they used an EMP grenade."

"What is this 'EMP' you speak of?" Kirana Ti asked from where she stood. As usual, she was watching Whistler with abject fascination. According to her, there were no droids on Dathomir.

"Electro-magnetic pulse," Solusar replied. "They used it to wipe the computer memory clean."

"So Corr-Ann's droid-machine cannot learn who did this?" she pressed.

"A dead man did it," Tionne repeated. "He died, but lives again. His prison is one of flesh this time, flesh and rage and madness."

"You'll be surprised what Whistler can find out," Corran said, eyeing Tionne warily while trying to comprehend the meaning behind her statement. The R2 unit whistled a thank you, and Horn patted him affectionately on the dome.

"I am always surprised what your droid-machine can do, Friend Corr-Ann," Kirana reminded him. She tossed aside something – it was a severed hand, Corran realized with some disgust – and knelt before a mostly intact body. Touching the palm of her left hand to the corpse's head, she closed her eyes. Corran could feel the Force shift around her slightly, and she frowned. "Nothing!" she snapped angrily as she stood. "They are all useless to me!" the Dathomiri woman declared, kicking a hunk of debris in frustration. "All I can taste is fear and surprise!"

"So this is a dead end," Solusar remarked.

"Not a dead end," Tionne corrected absently. She sat down on the lip of an overturned computer console. "A vergence."

"What do you mean?" Katarn asked, crossing his arms as he did so.

"The future flows uphill," she replied. "If we go left, everyone dies but one. If we go right, only one dies."

"What happens if we go straight?" Corran asked rhetorically, unable to shake a sensation of impending doom. He still couldn't forget how Tionne had spoken to him of Gantoris several months earlier.

"I was just beginning to like him," she had said as the eager kid had left to join Kyle on a routine scouting mission. At the time, Corran hadn't thought anything of it since he shared the opinion; despite having an off-putting personality, Gantoris had finally started to find his place on the team. When Katarn returned bearing the young man's body and a dozen new scars, Tionne's words had suddenly made sense.

"You see the problem," Tionne answered his question with a broad smile. "If we go straight," she said, "everyone dies or no one dies, but much pain is wrought." She shivered. "_Much_ pain," the silver-eyed woman repeated ominously.

"Life _is_ pain," Kirana interjected. She was still moving among the bodies, touching them in an attempt to read their past but without success. "You get accustomed to it." Tionne smiled at her, though Corran wasn't sure if it was a sad smile or a happy one. He forced himself to look away.

"Not that one, dear," the silver-eyed seer said. She pointed to a corner. "The finger over there is the one you're looking for."

"You could have just told me where it was," Kirana growled. Tionne smiled again.

"I did," she said before glancing at Kyle. "Whistler is done," she declared, "and Jan has news for you. We should go." Without waiting for the colonel's reply, she turned away and disappeared into the corridor. Solusar followed, a silent but heavily armed ghost, and Katarn blew out a breath. He spoke, his words soft but heartfelt.

"I hate it when she does that."

* * *

She hated it when he did this.

Hiding her annoyance behind a mask of feigned indifference, Mara fought to keep from glowering as Luke advanced quickly down the corridor of the hotel, all pretense of being a gambler abandoned as his savior complex overrode his common sense. While he continued to defer to her in matters of security or intelligence, it was times like this that she was reminded of exactly who he was and what he believed in. Only a fool would charge blindly into this situation without carefully considering the risks in order to rescue a person he barely knew, and she was desperately afraid his heroic idiocy would one day get them both killed.

_What does it say about you, _Mara asked herself with a frown, _that you'll willingly rush into the fire alongside him?_

She sighed.

The four Noghri were fast-walking to keep up with Luke's long strides, and weren't trying to disguise the fact they were heavily armed from the hotel residents standing at their doorways to investigate the source of the commotion. Barkhimkh flashed a toothy grin to a particularly obese Kel Dor who briefly blocked their path; to someone unaccustomed to Noghri, the expression was threatening, though Mara recognized the gleeful humor behind it. With their level of training, it was easy to forget that Barkhimkh and Sakhisakh were barely into their late teens, or that Olmahk was only a little older.

"That one," Sakhisakh announced, pointing to an otherwise unremarkable-looking door. Instantly, Mara stretched out with the Force to gauge the potential threat within; she could sense only two presences – one was tightly focused, almost laser-like, while the other was sluggish. Releasing a breath she hadn't realized she had drawn, Mara opened her eyes – she didn't recall closing them! – and frowned. Her instincts were warning her that something wasn't right…

"Let's go get Dravis," Barkhimkh said as he sprang forward, hefting his Stokhli spray stick. Olmakh and Sakhisakh were a half-step behind him.

"No, wait!" Mara shouted as her danger sense flared.

By then, it was nearly too late.

Time seemed to slow down, though Mara knew it to be an illusion of the mind. The click of the pressure plate activating as Barkhimkh stepped onto it almost seemed to be inordinately loud, and the Force screamed a warning. Luke was already reacting as she cried out, and the sudden swell of power that pulsed from him drew her along like a raft over a waterfall. Gesturing with his left hand, Skywalker seized the three Noghri with a telekinetic grip and yanked them back. Even as the trio sailed by him, Luke was delving deeper of his Force reserves as he threw up an invisible barrier. Mara didn't hesitate for a nanosecond as she followed his lead and added her strength to his.

A microsecond later, the charges concealed underneath the door detonated with a deafening explosion of fire. The impact against the Force shield was staggering – kinetic energy and chunks of durasteel debris slammed into it, causing both of them to stagger back a step. Most of the lethal shrapnel had been shunted away from them and had embedded itself in the walls, but Mara could sense pain rolling off of Khabarakh and Barkhimkh. They weren't critically injured, but the damage would slow them. Sakhisakh was unconscious, dark blood trickling down his face, and Olmahk was already reaching for him, medkit at the ready.

Luke shouted something, though the ringing in her ears prevented Mara from understanding what he said. A heartbeat later, he ignited his lightsaber and charged the smoking hole that had once been a door. Her own blade fell into her hands as if summoned and Mara was a bare half-step behind him.

The apartment was dark and had, at one time, been well appointed; damage from the jury-rigged charge had ripped apart a sofa and shattered a large dining room table. Fire suppression systems kicked in as Mara stepped across the threshold into the main room, and the white foam falling from the ceiling inexplicably reminded her of snow. The flame retardant hissed and sparked where it landed upon the humming saber blades.

On the other side of the room, just in front of the retracted balcony, the woman who had been chatting up Dravis in the casino bar crouched behind a larger couch, a wicked-looking blaster pistol in hand. She was exclaiming something into a comlink, but Mara still couldn't understand the words. Luke took a single step toward the woman when chaos erupted once again.

Miniature explosions filled the apartment, filling it with smoke and spinning shards of shrapnel. Without thinking, Mara tackled Luke and knocked him bodily to the floor as the room was suddenly transformed into a killing zone; even as he was hitting the ground, Skywalker was wrapping them both up in another Force shield to protect against the lethal splinters of durasteel whizzing through the air. It lasted only a few seconds, but gave the woman just enough time to trigger another makeshift explosive: multiple detonations rocked the apartment as the transparisteel window overlooking the balcony shattered. Wind wailed into the room.

Rolling off of Luke, Mara used the Force to accelerate the momentum of her spin and carry her to her feet quicker than would otherwise be possible. In mid-air, she ignited her saber, bringing the blade to a ready position to deflect any blaster attack from the woman. Luke did the same, spinning to his feet nearly two meters away from her, his own blade flashing back into existence with a sharp _snap-hiss_.

But the woman was gone.

Dravis was on the floor on the other side of the couch, his head lolling around as he struggled against the drugs the woman had fed him. At sight of Mara, his eyes swam in and out of focus, and he tried to speak.

"Took the data," he gasped as he flopped his right arm toward the open balcony window.

"Of course she did," she growled as she skirted the edge of the couch and quickly glanced out of the apartment. There, three floors down, was the woman. As Mara watched, the fleeing operative was jumping from balcony to balcony, though it looked more like a controlled fall than an actual jump.

"Olmahk," Luke called out as he joined Mara at the balcony window. The Noghri answered almost immediately.

"Go," he instructed as he knelt alongside Dravis.

"Is this dangerous enough for you, Mara?" Luke asked with a grin before easily jumping to a parked and secured airspeeder one floor below. Mara rolled her eyes – it was just like him to bring up her poor choice of words at Korriban _now _– before leaping after him. Icy wind tore at her exposed skin, abruptly reminding her that she was wearing only a dancing dress. At least she'd had the foresight to wear something other than heels.

Blaster fire suddenly exploded around them as their quarry started spraying wildly. Luke instinctively shifted forward, his saber flashing as he batted away the potentially dangerous shots. A flicker in the Force caused Mara to glance behind them, and she cursed as a team of figures with jetpacks appeared seemingly out of nowhere to flank them. The new arrivals opened up with their weapons at once, and Mara shifted her stance on the parked speeder to better parry the incoming blaster fire. For a long moment, she and Luke did nothing but defend.

Under their combined movements, the speeder began to rock which made it even more difficult to defend against the attacks. The woman ceased shooting and resumed her flight down as her flying reinforcements began spreading out to fire from multiple angles. Mara could feel Luke's frustration as he sank deeper into the Force to find an escape from this situation that wouldn't expose her to additional danger. The speeder creaked loudly as their weight continued to unbalance it; any moment now, Mara knew the mag-lock securing the vehicle in place would fail.

Without warning, sprays of semisolid tendrils shot out of the tower, enveloping three of the seven jetpacked figures with a fine mist that solidified almost instantly. Suddenly overbalanced and carrying a _lot _more mass than they should, the three dropped like stones and plummeted toward the ground, shrieking in terror as they fell. Seeing that Mara and Luke had back-up of their own, the remaining four flyers darted away, abandoning the woman they had been protecting. Mara glanced up to find Khabarakh, Barkhimkh and Olmahk leaning out the balcony. She gave them a quick thumbs-up and turned to Luke.

"They screamed," he said flatly, eyes locked on where the three flyers had fallen. "Those weren't clones." Mara started to reply, but just as quickly closed her mouth; he was right, she realized. The distinctive _feel _of a clone through the Force had been absent. Shaking his head, Luke turned back to face the Noghri and pantomimed holding one of the spray sticks. Khabarakh caught on quickly and threw his stick toward them; it sailed straight to Luke's outstretched hand. "You know how to use this thing, right?" he asked. Mara didn't bother answering as she took it from him and began adjusting the settings.

"You're the bait," she said, and Luke nodded. He dove off the speeder without warning, twisting in mid-air and landing lightly on another parked skycraft two floors down. Instantly, the woman began blasting away at him, but he was already airborne again, somersaulting from speeder to speeder while expertly deflecting her wild shots. It was such a dazzling display of aerial acrobatics that Mara couldn't blame the woman for forgetting that there were _two _Jedi in pursuit of her. Taking careful aim with the stick, Mara depressed the firing stud.

A moment later, the mist coalesced around the woman, hardening into a rigid net and delivering a mild stun charge. With barely a sound, she collapsed into the seat of the speeder she'd been hiding in.

"Did you have to use the entire charge on her?" Luke asked when he joined her moments in front of where the panicked-looking woman was slowly regaining consciousness.

"She made me jump out of a perfectly good skyscraper," Mara retorted before gesturing to her clothes. "And all this jumping around ruined my dress! She's damned lucky I don't just toss her off this speeder to see if she can fly." The glint in Luke's eye told Mara that he recognized her bluster for what it was: an opportunity to play good Jedi, dark Jedi. He crouched before their prisoner and looked the woman in the eye.

"I really can't do much with her when she gets in this kind of mood," he confided with believable sincerity, and Mara gave the woman a fierce scowl. "So, it's best for everyone involved if you just tell us who you work for."

"Sienar!" the woman almost screeched. "I work for Sienar! I'm a corporate headhunter!" Luke's expression darkened.

"You kidnap people?" he asked incredulously. "For a _company_?"

"Corporate espionage," Mara said with a disgusted sigh. "This piece of slime was going after Dravis because he works for KDY, not because of…" She trailed off before revealing anything else.

"I don't believe this!" Luke snapped, anger flashing in his eyes. "People died for your damned profit margin?"

"Please don't kill me," the woman wailed, but Skywalker ignored her as he stood.

"Let's get out of here," he told Mara, spearing the helpless headhunter with a hot look. "We'll let security take care of her."

"I think you're forgetting something," Mara said. "Where is it?" she asked the woman.

"Left breast pocket," came the prompt reply. Mara fished the data chit out before patting the woman on top of the head.

"You should consider a new line of work," she told her.

Although the tower was crawling with security, they managed to get clear of it without drawing too much attention. The Noghri were waiting for them when they exited the building, prompting Mara to wonder exactly how the group managed to elude detection, especially with all four of them wounded in some fashion. There was no sign of Dravis, but that was to be expected; his cover remained mostly intact, though Mara suspected Karrde would rethink the man's position here once she told him about this escapade. Pretending to be just another couple fleeing the horrors of the Avrosi Casino robbery, they let themselves be swallowed up by the crowd of onlookers and, nearly an hour later, were aboard the _Second Chance_, finally exiting the atmosphere.

"Where to next?" Luke asked from the pilot's station. Leaning back from the data reader, Mara sighed.

"Whoever is buying these parts," she said, "has arranged for a pick-up on Tatooine." To her surprise, Luke's expression grew darker. "Looks like you're going home, Farmboy," she offered in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Wonderful," he replied darkly. "The one place in the entire galaxy I _don't _want to go to." He rose to his feet. "Artoo," Skywalker called out tersely, "start to plot the coordinates." To Mara, he added, "I'm going to go check on Sakhisakh." He headed for the exit, but Mara caught his arm before he took more than three steps.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"Apart from us nearly dying and at least three men getting killed for ridiculous reasons," he said sharply, "no, there's nothing wrong." Mara bristled at his tone – it wasn't _her _fault that Dravis had gotten mixed up in corporate espionage – and Luke blew out a frustrated breath. "Sorry," he muttered as he rubbed his temples. "I'm tired," Luke admitted softly. "Tired and sore and really not looking forward to going back to Tatooine." He gave her a forced smile. "Don't worry about me."

"That's what you pay me for," Mara replied. Something flared within his eyes, and he made a face at the comment before nodding.

"I'm going to go check on Sakhisakh," Luke repeated coolly. A moment later, he was gone, leaving Mara alone with Artoo in the cockpit. Frowning, Mara watched him disappear around the curved corner, wondering at his sudden foul mood. She pushed her worry away for the moment then turned her attention back to the data reader.

There would be time later to press him for an explanation.

* * *

He was really looking forward to hearing her explanation for this.

Arms crossed and a wry smile on his face, Tycho Celchu pinned his wife with the most attentive expression he could muster, even though he could care less about the Wookiee history lesson she was reciting from memory. In the years since he'd first met Winter, Tycho had learned to admire her grace under pressure, her incredible courage, and her sometimes frightening ability to remember _everything _she saw or heard. Along the way, though, as he'd fallen in love with this amazing woman, he'd somehow developed an uncanny talent in seeing through her when she was trying to be deceptive.

This was one such instance.

Less than an hour after he got back from Gavin's wedding, Tycho had found himself on a civilian transport racing toward Kashyyyk. Winter had claimed that they were due a vacation, particularly since their honeymoon had been cut short, and Tycho had gladly agreed to her suggestion even if he knew she had ulterior motives. With her job as the chancellor's right hand and his duties as commanding officer of Rogue Wing now that Wedge had retired to elope with Iella, Tycho didn't see nearly enough of his wife to suit his tastes and the idea of a four day trip through hyperspace with just the two of them in a small, enclosed room had suited him fine.

That they were heading for Kashyyyk didn't surprise him either. Rumor had it that the chancellor's husband was still on the Wookiee homeworld, and if Tycho knew Winter as well as he thought, Admiral Solo was the reason they were here. It certainly wasn't to moon over a memorial to some Wookiee named Zaalbar who had been dead millennia before Tycho's grandparents had been born.

"You're not listening to me, are you?" Winter asked abruptly, causing Tycho to look away from the antique vibrosword encased in a protective force screen. He shook his head.

"Not really, no." When she frowned slightly, Tycho gave her a grin he'd picked up from Hobbie. "I figured that I'd wait until you decided to clue me in on why we're _really _here before I actually started paying attention." Winter blinked, glanced away, and then exhaled deeply. Her shoulders slumped slightly.

"I hate it when you do that," she muttered crossly, her normally cultured voice momentarily slipping into the tones of an experienced but frustrated intelligence agent. Tycho's smile deepened.

"Comes with the territory," he remarked before gesturing toward the exit. "Shall we go find the admiral?" He leaned closer. "That _is _why we're here, right? The chancellor sent you to carry a message?" Winter gave him a sad frown.

"Not exactly," she admitted. "But I do want to talk to Han." She gave him another look. "You're not angry," she said with a hint of surprise in her voice.

"Why should I be?" Tycho asked, taking her hand into his. "I know what kind of job you do, Winter," he said simply. "I know there are things you can't tell me and things I'm better off not knowing." He shrugged. "Comes from marrying a spook," he added with another smile.

"Ex-spook," Winter corrected, her own lips turning up in a smile. "I don't deserve you," she said softly. Tycho grinned.

"And don't you forget it," he teased. "Now let's go find the admiral so we can get back to our delayed honeymoon, okay?"

As it turned out, Winter already knew where Solo was berthed – which didn't surprise Tycho in the slightest – and they made excellent time to the landing port. Even before they entered it, they could hear a loud argument coming from within; one voice was clearly human, the other a Wookiee. Winter shook her head in amusement and strode forward.

"Good morning, Captain," she called out, interrupting the disagreement between Solo and the irate-looking Wookiee. The two gave her a startled look, but she barreled on. "My husband and I were wondering if you were accepting charters."

"We might be able to come to an arrangement," Solo replied, his brow crinkling slightly at their presence. He gave Tycho a nod of greeting before focusing entirely on Winter; it wasn't a new occurrence, and Tycho certainly took no offense – he barely knew the Solos, and was only in their orbit because of Winter. "If Leia sent you to ask me about Luke," the admiral said cautiously. "I don't know where he is."

"Now why would you think that?" Winter asked. "We could be on our honeymoon." Solo snorted.

"On Kashyyyk?" he asked. The Wookiee beside him growled something, and Solo gave his companion a flat look. "Oh, stuff it, Chewie," he told his co-pilot. "You know what I meant."

"The chancellor did not send me," Winter interjected before the Wookiee could respond, "but I would like to talk to you about her." Solo's expression hardened, and he replied with a single, sharp nod before jerking his thumb toward the landing ramp.

"Go home, Chewie," he said to his towering co-pilot. Instantly, the Wookiee began to reply with growls and barks, but Solo shook his head. "Lumpy needs you more than I do right now, buddy," he said. Tycho frowned at the unfamiliar name, but followed his wife up the ramp.

"Winter!" a girlish squeal greeted them. A half-second later, Jaina Solo, decked in dirty-looking overalls, darted across the deck and jumped into Winter's arms. The three-year old girl began chattering a kilometer a minute, and Tycho stared at her with slight amazement; how did she manage to breathe while talking like that?

"Jaya," the admiral called out as he strode up the ramp. His voice was stern, and had the distinctive ring of a father chastising a disobedient child. Instantly, Jaina fell silent and turned her eyes toward him. "I thought I told you to go to bed."

"Don't wanna," the girl replied sourly. She shot a hopeful look toward Winter. "Not sleepy."

"I'm going to count to three," Solo said calmly, "and if you're not in bed when I finish, I'm going to have to take away those tools Uncle Chewie bought you. One." Like a snake, the girl twisted out of Winter's arms and darted toward the crew quarters. "Two," Han said louder.

"Goin'!" Jaina shouted as she vanished through the hatchway.

"You've got her well-trained," Winter remarked a moment later. Solo shook his head.

"Threats and blackmail work wonders," he remarked with a slight smirk. He followed his daughter to the crew quarters, but was back only a few seconds later. "Now," he said calmly, "talk."

"Leia is working herself to death, Han," Winter began. "She needs you." As unobtrusively as he could manage, Tycho inched away from the two. He'd never felt entirely comfortable in the admiral's presence, though that was mostly due to the identity of the woman Solo had married. Even with the revelation that Princess Leia had been adopted, Tycho had never been able to get over the fact that she was an Organa by upbringing. To an Alderaanian like him, that meant she was something special, and even the minor fact that her biological father had been Darth Vader couldn't change his mindset.

"She sure has a funny way of showing it," Solo replied, anger and hurt making his words come out sharp. He glanced once at Tycho, frowning tightly. "Game table is in there," the admiral said, his words an offer for escape, and Tycho seized the opportunity without hesitation.

"You are Lady Winter's husband," a gravelly voice remarked as Tycho rounded the corridor and entered the main hold. He jumped in slight surprise as a female Noghri seemed to slide out of the shadows. She gave him an appraising look, before glancing in the direction of Han and Winter's voices.

"I am," Tycho replied. He collapsed in the seat before the holographic game table. "And you are?"

"Meewahl," the Noghri responded. She took the seat across from him. "Do you play dejarik?" she asked calmly.

They had barely begun the game when a subtle vibration ran through the deckplates of the freighter. Meewahl slid out of the seat and was heading toward the cockpit even before Tycho recognized that they were airborne. He blinked in slight surprise – for an antiquated piece of junk, the _Falcon _was in better shape than he expected – and followed the Noghri.

As expected, Solo was in the pilot's seat, but there was no sign of Winter. Seeing Tycho's tight frown, the admiral answered the unspoken question.

"Jaina wanted her to tell a story," he said. Beyond the viewport, the atmosphere of Kashyyyk receded, and the glittering starfield replaced it.

"Chewbacca is not accompanying us?" Meewahl asked, and Solo smirked.

"I didn't tell him we were leaving," the admiral admitted. "His son needs him more than we do." Solo's eyes shifted to Tycho's reflection in the viewport. "Hold onto that wife of yours," he ordered. "She's a helluva woman."

"I could say the same thing, Admiral," Tycho replied hesitantly.

"I'm trying," Solo murmured softly, his words so low Tycho doubted he was supposed to have overheard. "And my name is _Han_," he added. "I resigned the commission, remember?"

"If you say so, sir," Tycho said. He shifted slightly in place, unsure whether he should offer his assistance, and Solo nodded toward the oversized co-pilot's chair. Meewahl was already gone, Tycho noticed with some surprise, having disappeared without a sound.

"She does that," Solo remarked dryly as Tycho glanced down the cockpit access corridor for some sign of the Noghri. "You get used to it." The commboard before him lit up, and Solo shook his head. "Didn't take Chewie long to find out," he said with a smirk as he reached for the hyperspace levers and pulled them down. The stars elongated as the _Falcon _leaped into lightspeed, her engines rumbling with eagerness.

"Good ship," Tycho said.

"The best," Solo replied.

They sat silently for a long moment, staring at the swirling hyperspace tunnel before them. Out of the corner of his eye, Tycho could see that the admiral was deep in thought. He wondered what the man was thinking, but didn't know what else to say.

"Is this duty to Republic before family an Alderaani thing?" Solo asked out of the blue, his question causing Tycho to jerk his attention away from the engine performance readout display before him. "Or is it an Organa thing?"

"A little of both," Winter's voice answered as she glided into the cockpit. She gave the two men an enigmatic smile before sinking into the astrogator's position just behind Tycho. "Jaina is finally asleep," she said calmly, "but I think Jacen is having a nightmare."

"He's been having a lot of those lately," Han revealed sadly. "I think it's a Force thing, 'cause he keeps asking when we're gonna see Luke again." His lips tightened. "Leia doesn't know you're here, does she?" he asked. Winter smiled.

"No," she said in response. "I told her we were going to Dorumaa."

"You passed up beaches for Kashyyyk?" Solo asked with mock surprise. "You're a better friend than I thought."

Alarms howled before Winter could reply, and a half-second later, the _Falcon _shuddered, as if it had been struck by a dozen concussion missiles. The swirling hyperspace vortex splintered and collapsed a fraction of a second later, returning them to sublight speeds almost instantly. A rain of sparks exploded overhead as overstressed systems violently self-destructed.

"What the-!" Solo started to say, his hands instinctively falling to the flight controls. Proximity alerts began shrieking, and weapons lock alarms screamed their warnings. The _Falcon _shuddered as dozens of impacts slammed into her hull, but Solo was already reacting, reflexively sending the freighter into a steep dive. "Meewahl!" the Corellian bellowed, as he rolled the _Falcon _and angled the surprisingly nimble craft toward a distant planet. "Get to the guns!"

Tycho was already on his feet, pushing by Winter as he sprinted from the cockpit. The _Falcon's _engines wailed as Solo put them through another series of punishing maneuvers to evade whoever it was that was firing upon them, and gravity slammed Tycho into bulkhead. He cursed loudly, but somehow managed to stay on his feet. The sound of one of the quad-lasers barking mixed with the terrified screams of the two Solo children, but Tycho focused on the job in front of him. He had to get to the empty turret.

Dropping into the seat, he found the weapon systems already charged up and ready. A quick glance at the targeting array caused his stomach to drop – there were at least ten hostiles out there, and Tycho didn't know how much damage their sudden reversion from lightspeed had done to the _Falcon's _engines.

He started firing the quads even before he saw a target, mostly to get a feel of how they responded. Expecting to see a wide assortment of cobbled together starfighters – Uglies, in snubpilot slang – Tycho drew in a sharp breath at the sleek lines and unmistakable design silhouette of the attacking fighters. He recognized them instantly as the fighters Luke had encountered over that last year, which meant their pilots were all the same.

Jedi clones.

_Focus on the mission_, he told himself as he opened up with the turret. Explosions wreathed one of the Eta-2 _Actis_-class interceptors as Tycho's shots punched through the craft's vaguely TIE fighter-like cockpit. Suddenly with flames engulfing it, the interceptor spiraled away from the engagement, secondary and tertiary explosions systematically ripping it apart. Ignoring the dying craft, Tycho swung the guns around, still spraying nonstop with lethal laser fire.

The space around the _Falcon _was suddenly crowded as Solo dove them into a planetary ring system, spinning and rolling the freighter almost constantly. One of the pursuing interceptors clipped some rocky debris, and the impact ripped its port stabilizer free. Unexpectedly out of control, the fighter was easy meat for Meewahl manning the other quad, and it vanished in a fiery flash of fire and metal. A second interceptor banked hard to avoid a similar fate, only to smash into a third of the fighters. Superheated metal fused, and the two fighters tumbled away before colliding with a chunk of planetary detritus that was easily twice the _Falcon's _size.

And still they came on.

Missiles corkscrewed through the debris field, many slamming into the orbital asteroids and detonating with horrific force. The space around the _Falcon _was suddenly alive with rocky shrapnel, and the freighter's shields struggled under the onslaught. A trio of the missiles continued toward them, and Tycho shifted his fire to cerulean warheads. One disappeared instantly under his stream of fire, and a second shuddered under the withering assault before it altered direction and struck another planetary asteroid.

The third struck true, and Tycho didn't even have time to scream.

* * *

**Deja:** Glad the motivations of everyone is coming across as realistic, particularly Pellaeon. He's one of my favorite Imps, but given the hell I've put him through, it seemed logical to assume he wants to lash out in revenge at what he perceives as responsible for his trauma.

**wbsaw: **A _realistic _assassin wouldn't get up close & personal (wetworks, if you will), but Mara has the same sort of trouble-attracting gene that the Skywalkers possess (maybe it's a Force thing), hence my belief that she's got some scars. You also need to take into account that she wasn't _just _an assassin, but also an infiltrator and saboteur. By the sheer nature of her job, she's likely to have acquired some "trophies." In regards to the actual _number_ of scars, you need to remember that scene was from her POV and she's embarrassed by them for what they represent; for all we know, she could be mentally exaggerating the extent of said scars. Perhaps there are just two or three fairly prominent ones, but, to her, they're horrific.

As to the rock, I thought it was funny and kind of saw it as a Mara v Shada thing, their version of the pissing contest if you will. YMMV.

Re: addendum. I hope I've earned a bit of trust in regards to your concerns. Beyond that, I cannot/will not comment.

**Kyuubi123: **Yes, I have considered a writing career. I would very much like to be a professional author "when I grow up." Problem is (for me, anyway) all of my original work is too derivative (i.e., the setting feels like Bab5-lite, or Trek-lite, or ... etc.) At the moment, I'm kinda brainstorming a sci-fi story involving telepaths, a murder, body-jumping, and some other whacky hijinks...

**Emote Control**: There's a couple of flaws in your logic re: Lumiya & Kinooine. First, that is a **_lot _**of trouble to go through just to fake one's death, especially when one fully expected to emerge victorious in the first place (as she did since she had previously and soundly defeated Luke in combat). Two, the Emperor knew what one could do with a couple dozen Spaarti cylinders (as the Clone Wars showed), so he _severely_ limited who could get a hold of them. As an illicit apprentice of Vader's (remember, my version of her hasn't been retconned into being an Emperor's Hand), Lumiya did not have access to one. Yeah, I know the last chapter of _Tyranny Reborn _seems to conflict with that, but recall that it was from her POV and even in that scene she was a pretty unreliable narrator.

I'm going to presume that Luke _has _been looking for other Jedi survivors of Order 66 between _Return of the Jedi _and _Heir to the Empire_ though I'm treating Yoda's "last of the Jedi will you be" as truth. Vader was quite efficient between ROTS & ANH. As to the help Luke would acquire, I tried to imply previously that he doesn't have faith in the NRI anymore because of how they wanted to control him due to fear and distrust ("those who have power fear to lose it"). The Smuggler's Alliance is now defunct (it collapsed in _Sidereal_, thanks to Fey'lya's political manuevering), but Luke _does _have access to Karrde's organization now...

**LordRevan: **Ah, KOTOR2 ... I have such a love-hate relationship with that game...

**Alexian Cale: **If you want a _really _well-written Palpatine, I **_highly_** recommend checking out **blank101's **fics starting with "Into the Storm." He has, better than anyone else I've read, really nailed Palpatine's essence as an evil genius. As to the rest of your comments, well...

**Elemarth: **Actually, I saw it as more of her job. It'd be hard for Palpy to gain Mara's devotion if he was constantly abusing her physically, I'd think.

**Eternal E:** Sorry you're disappointed. It was a stylistic decision to jump forward like this - I didn't want to recycle the usual Ross/Rachel stuff in regards to L/M (because I actively _loath _'will they, won't they?'), especially since the ball had been firmly planted in Mara's court. She's never struck me as someone who wouldn't go full tilt toward something she wanted, and since Luke had already implied to her that he wanted more, she just made the decision to move forward. _The Unseen War_ is principally Action-Adventure/Drama, not Romance, so I needed their relationship to progress beyond the puppy dog eyes and longing stares stage, especially since they're both in their late-20s, early-30s at this point.

As to Jan and the hand, there _is _a precedence for it. Wookieepedia says: "Jan wore always a kind of glove on her right hand. Whether it was cybernetic or had another special reason, it is not known." I simply inferred that it was the former.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **I forgot to mention this before - unlike _Tyranny Reborn_, this Episode does _not _cover a Standard year, but is more in line with most SW movies as it takes place over a couple of weeks.

Replies at bottom.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

SHE wanted to scream.

Clutching the armrests of her chair, Leia Organa-Solo stared at the data before her with horrified eyes. The intense conversations of her advisers were little more than a muted buzz in her ears, indistinct and incomprehensible. Anguish and rage swam within her stomach, and she clenched her jaw tightly to keep from howling in despair. Dull numbness began to set in, and Leia gladly welcomed it for the truth was too terrible to face.

Her family was gone.

Leia had sensed it the moment it had happened, though she hadn't understood exactly what it meant – within the span of a second, the distant psychic signatures of her children that had become such an integral part of her personality had blinked out, vanishing as if they were candles suddenly snuffed out. At first, she hadn't thought it was a danger – in recent months, Jaina and Jacen had learned how to hide themselves in the Force, and had turned it into something of a game akin to hide-and-seek. As the hours passed and they remained hidden, Leia's concern grew, culminating in her contacting Chewbacca on Kashyyyk only to learn that Han had left hours earlier. Now, barely a day later, she was staring at incontrovertible proof that life as she knew it was over.

Hovering a half dozen centimeters above her desk was a holographic image of the shattered hulk that had once been the _Millenium Falcon_. It was physically painful to look at the holo, but Leia simply could not tear her eyes away from the images slowly orbiting before her. Gaping holes had been punched in the freighter's hull, exposing its superstructure, and one of the forward mandibles had been torn free by the crash. What little remained of the cockpit was a broken, smoldering husk.

"It _has _to have been the Empire," Admiral Drayson declared, the shrillness of his words slicing into the mental fugue that clouded Leia's mind. Recently promoted to the directorship of Alpha Blue, an ultra-secret intelligence detachment created to act independently of the bureaucracy that so often prevented the NRI from being effective, the admiral was zealous in his desire to prove that his elevation to such an exalted rank had not been a mistake. "Solo humiliated them at Kessel, and they've never forgiven him for it."

"The proof you have is circumstantial," Airen Cracken, the administrator of the NRI, argued. A grizzled veteran, he pinned the younger man with a dark frown, before directing his next words to Leia. "Your Excellency," he said grimly, "nothing we have at the moment points to the Empire being involved." Drayson scoffed at the comment but offered no further comment when Cracken shot him a fierce look.

"Have you found the bodies?" Viqi Shesh asked, her voice stern and unwavering. Leia flinched at the question, and closed her eyes for a moment in a vain attempt to recover her poise.

"Not yet," Cracken said. "But given the size of the debris field and the amount of damage the ship had sustained," he added grimly, "it's not likely anyone could have survived re-entry." He grimaced at the bleakness of his words, and shot Leia an apologetic look she barely noticed.

"This attack could be the prelude for another round of Imperial assassination attempts," Drayson announced. He sounded almost eager for such a threat, no doubt seeing in it a means to prove his worth. The fact that the chancellor he was standing before had suffered a horrific tragedy didn't seem to enter his thinking process.

In that moment, Leia hated him with every gram of her being.

"We don't know this _was _the Empire, sir," Cracken repeated, contempt dripping off the honorific he used. "Every pirate group in the galaxy has access to Imperial war materiel, and even if the Imps _were _involved," he added, "it could just as easily be rogue elements like this Commodore Lennox they're looking for."

"Have you considered that the _Resilience's _disappearance could be a precursor for a covert operation?" Viqi Shesh asked. Leia could feel the woman's glance in her direction.

"We have," Cracken said in response, "and it doesn't track with the personalities involved. We know that Pellaeon is working on something big, but Daala is too … honorable to be involved in an operation like this."

"Unless she doesn't know she's being manipulated," Drayson interjected, earning himself another dark frown from the NRI director.

"They've relocated an entire battle group from the front to find the _Resilience_," Cracken said derisively, "and there is no strategic value in weakening their defenses if they were about to make a major offensive."

"Our threat level has been increased nonetheless," Commodore Kre'fey added. The Bothan stood ramrod straight next to the door, his hands clasped tightly at the small of his back.

"We're still investigating the situation at Ambria," the NRI director continued, "but until we have more information, I must urge restraint."

"My family is dead," Leia hissed as she finally tore her eyes away from the holographic recordings. "My husband and children have been murdered, my best friend is dead, and you want me to do nothing?" Cracken didn't flinch before her fury.

"Yes," he said flatly.

"Get out," Leia ordered. Her glare took in everyone. "All of you, get out." Kre'fey obeyed instantly, darting the office without hesitation, but the others exchanged looks with one another that only intensified the anger pounding through Leia's veins. "Now!" she bellowed, instinctively using the Force to amplify the command. Drayson nearly fell over himself as he scrambled for the door, and Cracken frowned tightly as he followed the Alpha Blue director. Only Shesh remained, and she studied Leia for a long moment as if she were examining a bug on a microscope.

"My deepest sympathies for your loss," the Kuati woman said without a trace of actual feeling in her words, "but you must be strong. You must-"

"Get out," Leia interrupted in a low growl, "before I _throw _you out." Shesh's eyes narrowed, but bowed her head slightly at the neck and obeyed.

A moment later, Leia was alone. Completely, unbearably, utterly alone. She stared at the hologram for the briefest of seconds before angrily slashing her hand through it; the transmission deactivated at once, and she pushed herself to her feet, fists clenched tightly. Tears prickled her eyes, but she fought them back as she turned to stare through the massive window overlooking Coruscant. Shesh was right: she had to be strong, especially now. Her enemies – both political and otherwise – would see this as the moment to strike.

The door to her office slid open, and Leia sensed the approach of Chewbacca. Barely contained rage radiated from the Wookiee as he stood beside her; his fury was so intense it was a wonder that he didn't burst into flames. His muscles quivered, and she bit back on the urge to shout at him, to accuse him of failing her husband.

"What happened?" she asked instead, knowing he would understand the question she couldn't ask: _why weren't you with him_?

"_He left without telling me,_" the Wookiee replied. "_He told me to be with Malla and Lumpy, and that he wouldn't do anything without telling me first._" Chewbacca trembled, and Leia winced at the primal ferocity rolling off him through the Force. She inhaled sharply as his wrath fed off the hot emotions burning bright in her chest, intensifying and expanding them until she thought she would explode. Closing her eyes, Leia struggled to fight against the urge to wail, to smash her hands into the wall until they were bloody and broken, to find the bastards responsible and rip them apart. She clung to the anger, let it temporarily burn away the grief that threatened to rob her of sanity, and then focused it into something useful. It wasn't the first time she'd done this; when Alderaan had been destroyed, she'd channeled her agony into zeal for destroying the Empire. _Never again_, she promised herself.

She opened her eyes.

"What happens now?" Leia asked more calmly than she felt. There would be a price for her control; later, when she was alone in her home, she would lose herself to the grief, but for now, the anger gave her something to hold onto. Chewbacca looked at her, and she could see his own struggle for restraint in his eyes.

"_I swore myself to Han and his family_," the Wookiee said in response. "_You _are _that family, Princess._" He hung his head for a moment, and Leia could almost taste the despair pulsing through him at thwarted vengeance. She swallowed.

"If I were not in the equation," she said cautiously, "what would you do?" There was no hesitation in his reply.

"_I would find those responsible,_" Chewbacca growled, "_and kill them all._" The implied violence of his promise caused Leia to shiver. She considered the options before her and spoke once more.

"Chewie," she said softly, "I don't need you here." The Wookiee's eyes narrowed as he comprehended the meaning behind her words, but Leia continued. "Cakhmaim and the Noghri can protect me while you do what you need to do."

"_Are you sure?_" Chewbacca asked, a feral light flickering in his eyes. "_A Wookiee blood hunt is not something to take lightly._"

"I want them dead as much as you do," Leia admitted. "Do what you must," she told him, ignoring the voice of her conscience whispering that this was the wrong thing to do, that she was betraying the principles her parents had instilled upon her. The dragon within her breast howling for vengeance shouted the warning down, its furious roar drowning out everything but the need for retaliation, for justice. It wasn't how Alderaani were supposed to deal with tragedy, but it was _definitely_ the Corellian way, and Leia found solace in the fact that Han would have done the same thing. She reached for the Wookiee's arm and held onto it tightly as she spoke once more.

"Tell me what you need."

* * *

He needed to get this over with.

Leaning back from the large conference table, Lando Calrissian barely kept himself from grimacing as he took in the revised numbers now flickering upon the screen of his portable computer. They weren't bad – at any other time, he'd be giddy at the positive growth in all sectors of Socorro's economy – but neither were they quite as good as he had hoped for. When he'd agreed to this fiscal summit, he'd certainly expected to do a little better.

For the benefit of the investors gathered around the table, though, he smiled broadly. They were the lifeblood of his planet, and the only reason Socorro was finally beginning to claw out of ten consecutive quarters of negative growth, so he certainly wasn't going to let these captains of industry know he wasn't as satisfied as they appeared to be. But then, he admitted to himself, his standards were quite a bit higher than theirs.

"Gentlebeings," he said loudly, making eye contact with each one of the sentients seated along the table, "with the signing of these accords, Socorro is poised to take her place in the galaxy as a new economic power." He rose to his feet. "In short," he said with a wide smile, "profits are up, costs are down, unemployment is low, and prospects are _extremely _high."

"Thanks to you," one of the venture capitalists remarked. Lando gave him a grin.

"No," he corrected smoothly, "thanks to you." With a gestured, he encompassed all of the assembled executives. "Thanks to all of you." He began to clap, a clear indication for the junior officers not important enough to be seated to follow suit, and soon, the conference room was filled with loud, congratulatory sounds. Lando reached for the hands of the nearest executive, knowing they would be here for a while.

More quickly than he expected, the gathering spilled out of the conference room and into the ball room where a long banquet table had already been set up. A surprisingly skilled local band was playing softly in the corner, and Calrissian nodded in approval of their musical selection; it wasn't bombastic, or even particularly celebratory, but rather pieces from the Old Republic that brought to mind a more civilized age.

Without realizing he was doing it, Lando started scanning the crowd for a particular face, and he smiled when he caught sight of her. Newly appointed to lead her father's manufacturing consortium, Tendra Risant was a slim woman several years his junior who could have passed for a native of Socorro. Dark-skinned, dark-eyed, and so devastatingly attractive it was impossible to ignore, she was everything Calrissian looked for in a woman.

"That went well," she remarked as she joined him, carrying a wineglass in her left hand and a datapad in her right.

"It did," Lando agreed. "I must admit, though," he said with a smile, "I had hoped for a slightly better rate of return from Risant Industries." Tendra laughed, and Calrissian licked his lips at the lovely sound.

"Why?" she asked with a wicked glint in her eyes. "Because I'm sharing your bed?" Calrissian shrugged half-heartedly, and she laughed again. "Don't be ridiculous, Lando," Tendra said. "I _never _mix business with pleasure."

"So noted," Lando replied, tapping his wineglass against hers in a silent toast. He lowered his voice. "And speaking of pleasure," he murmured, "when can I see you again?"

"Later," Tendra said. She jerked her head slightly in the direction of a cluster of humans and near-humans wearing poor-fitting suits. None of them were smiling despite the celebratory atmosphere, and Lando presumed they were accountants. "I have to go through the reports, and send a revised prospectus to the Home Office," she continued before biting her lower lip in thought. "Tomorrow evening?" she asked. Lando smiled.

"I shall be waiting with bated breath," he said. Tendra's eyes twinkled.

"And not a stitch of clothing, I hope," she replied as she offered her hand. Lando kissed it without hesitation. "Until tomorrow," Tendra said as she turned toward the cluster of grim-looking accountants.

"Until tomorrow," Lando repeated. He watched her disappear into the crowd.

"I'm not sure who's braver," a familiar voice declared, interrupting his musings, "you or Skywalker."

"Hello, Karrde," Calrissian said, turning to face his new visitor. As expected, Shada was alongside Talon, wearing an oddly demure, almost conservative dress. She hadn't adopted the role of vapid arm dressing for this mission, however, and was watching the crowd as if she expected a squad of stormtroopers to spontaneously appear. "Shada, my dear," Lando remarked with another bright smile, "you look fantastic."

"Thank you, Governor," the woman replied, never once stopping her study of the party goers.

"I'm surprised to see you here, Talon," Calrissian said as he sipped his wine. "This summit was meant for actual investors," he added with a smirk, "and I'd heard a rumor you were working solely for Skywalker these days."

"A baseless accusation," Karrde retorted. "My holdings are quite diversified." He gave Lando a knowing look. "Risant Industries, for example," Talon added, "is _quite_ high on my list of investments."

"Mine as well," Lando said, his eyes instinctively sliding away from Karrde and toward where Tendra stood. As if sensing his study of her, she gave him a tight smile. Talon cleared his throat.

"And being a stockholder," Karrde added, almost casually, "I thought you might be interested in a little tidbit of information I recently acquired. To be used however you feel appropriate, of course." Calrissian glanced at him, recognizing the subtle implication at once; this was meant for Tendra's ears, and Talon knew that Lando could pass it on without having to go through the bureaucracy of Risant Industries.

"Please, continue," he said with a forced smile.

"I'm sure a well-placed man such as yourself has heard about the feud between KDY and Sienar," Karrde began, a smug look on his face. Lando nodded. "I understand there's been an incident _on _Kuat involving some Sienar headhunters," Talon continued calmly. "The local authorities have been trying to cover it up, of course."

"Of course," Lando repeated, still waiting for the hammer to fall. He frowned suddenly.

Shada was gone.

"It seems," Karrde said, seemingly ignorant of the fact his bodyguard had vanished, "that Sienar has been forced to cut back on their manufacturing division." He smiled. "It's not official yet, but I understand they're considering the liquidation of some assets an expanding corporation like R.I. might be interested in acquiring." Talon frowned at Lando's lack of attention. "Is there something wrong?" he asked.

"You appear to have misplaced your date," Lando replied. His stomach sank at the wide-eyed look of innocence Karrde gave him in return.

"Why, I do believe you're correct," Talon said without a gram of surprise. "How extraordinary."

"Are you using _my _planet as a _drop_?" Calrissian demanded. Visions of the economic summit deteriorating into a running gunfight caused him to ball his hands tightly into fists and glower. His ire certainly wasn't as intense as he made it out to be, but the info-merchant before him didn't need to know that.

"Certainly not," Karrde said in response. The steady look he gave Lando belied the words. Calrissian sighed melodramatically.

"If you're going to bring Skywalker's war to my doorstep," he said with a frown, "then I'm going to have to insist on some sort of compensation." Talon blinked, but there was no other sign of surprise.

"What exactly are you suggesting?" he asked.

"I have a good team here on Socorro," Lando said, "but compared to your people, they're rank amateurs." Karrde nodded slightly in appreciation of the compliment, but did not interrupt. "My people know there are offworld interests trying to destabilize this government-"

"And you want to know who," Talon guessed. His eyes danced as he sipped from his wineglass. "I'm surprised, Governor," he said with a smirk. "I'd never have pegged you as man interested in identifying political enemies."

"I'm not," Calrissian retorted quickly. "Whoever these individuals are," he continued, "they're not from Socorro, and I want them dealt with before good people get hurt." He pinned Karrde with a frown. "Get me names," he said, "and I'll take care of the rest."

"As luck would have it," Talon remarked, "I'm a very curious individual." He smiled, revealing a row of perfect teeth. "You'll have your names in two hours." Lando raised his wineglass slightly in salute to the other man.

"You need to see this," Shada abruptly announced from behind Lando, causing him to start in surprise. "Both of you," she added before turning away. Karrde frowned, but quickly fell into step behind her and Lando followed suit.

She led them directly to the nearby conference room, sealing the door behind them once they were inside. Talon opened his mouth to speak, but Shada strode directly to the wall monitor and activated it. Instantly, a flat-image of a GNN reporter appeared.

"-have confirmation that earlier reports were indeed accurate, Tam," the journalist was saying as shaky holo-images of a starship crash site began appearing behind her. "The remnants of Admiral Solo's freighter, the storied _Millenium Falcon_, was discovered on Ambria at thirteen hundred Galactic Standard time this morning."

"What?" Lando demanded, dropping the wineglass and stepping closer to the monitor. His stomach plunged as he stared at the images being broadcast.

"The identity of the admiral's attackers remains a mystery," the reporter added, wearing an expression of feigned compassion, "and investigators aren't ruling out a possible Imperial link to this terrible atrocity. Aboard the _Falcon _at the time of the crash were the admiral's children, longtime family friend Winter Celchu, and her husband Tycho."

"No," Lando whispered, exchanging a quick, horrified look with Karrde, "I can't believe it. Not Han…"

"Shada," Talon said sharply, "I want every available asset looking into this."

"Already on it," the woman replied smoothly. "I've also got Aves trying to contact Luke and Mara, though they went silent after leaving Kuat so that could be difficult."

"Do whatever it takes," Karrde ordered. "Calrissian," he started, but Lando was already turning away from the monitor, fingers flying on the wrist-comp he wore.

"Pol," Lando snapped into the integrated comlink as he skirted the edge of the conference table and stepped quickly toward the holo-transceiver at the far end of the room. "Cancel all of my appointments for the rest of the evening. Reschedule _everything._"

"But, sir," his executive assistant started to argue. Calrissian cut him off.

"That's not a request!" he barked before killing the transmission. A moment later, the holo-array crackled to life and began connecting with the relays scattered throughout the galaxy to connect with the private address Lando had dialed. Though it was actually less than a minute, the wait seemed interminable, and Calrissian heaved a sigh of relief when a life-sized hologram of the Solo's protocol droid materialized.

"Good evening, Governor," the droid said in its prissy voice. "I'm afraid the chancellor isn't taking any calls at the moment-"

"Connect me to Cakhmaim," Lando interrupted, causing the droid to tilt its head and hesitate. "It's important, Threepio," Calrissian said.

"Of course, Governor. Please hold." The transmission dissolved in a burst of static and, for another impossibly long moment, Lando waited. Behind him, he could hear Talon and Shada make a discreet exit; Calrissian wasn't sure if it was get to work or whether they felt his conversation was not for their ears, but he silently thanked them nonetheless.

"You wished to speak to me?" Cakhmaim asked as his hologram flickered into existence.

"How is she?" Lando asked without preamble. The Noghri's already grim countenance appeared to grow even darker.

"Angry," he responded, "distraught, confused, scared. Exactly as you would expect."

"Do we know who did it?" Calrissian questioned, and the holographic Noghri shook his head.

"No," Cakhmaim said. "Chewbacca departed Coruscant three hours ago to conduct his own investigation."

"Chewie's alive?" Lando couldn't restrain his surprise at the discovery.

"Han clan Solo departed Kashyyyk without informing Chewbacca," the Noghri related. He glanced to his right before returning his attention to Calrissian. "My time is short. Lady Solo requires my presence."

"Tell her I called, Cakhmaim," Lando said quickly. "Any time she needs me," he continued, "I'm here. Send me word, and I'll be on the first transport to Coruscant."

"I shall relay your message." The transmission vanished in another burst of static, leaving Lando alone in the conference room. He collapsed in the nearest chair as shock began to set in.

"Not Han," he murmured as his eyes drifted to the wall monitor on the far wall. "Not the twins." Fury and despair began building within him, and Lando stared at the newscast, desperately hoping this was just a bad dream.

But the images would not go away.

* * *

The sound would not go away.

It slowly pierced the fog of sleep – a steady, repetitive chirping that was too regular to _not _be artificial – and Leonia Tavira clawed her way to consciousness. Even before she opened her eyes, she was aware of her surroundings and, far more importantly, the presence of the man still in her bed. A major in the stormtrooper corps, TR-889 – he had an actual name, but she hadn't bothered learning it – had been a willing participant in last night's activities, but Tavira nearly groaned when she realized he was still here. Usually, they had the good sense to be gone by the time she woke.

Another shrill beep sounded, and Leonia's eyes snapped open as comprehension suddenly flooded her mind. She sat up quickly, elbowing the sleeping major sharply when he unconsciously tried to hold onto her. It was a hard enough jab that it woke him almost instantly, and Tavira gave him a harsh look as she scrambled to her feet.

"Get out," she ordered as she reached for the short robe hanging alongside the bed. She didn't bother to see his reaction before striding toward the door leading to her personal office. The door hissed shut behind her, and Leonia waited for the chime indicating a hard seal before turning toward the small desk.

"This had better be good," Tavira growled as she activated the comm.-panel and dropped into her chair. A miniature hologram of her director of foreign affairs flickered into existence above the table.

"We have an amber-level alert, ma'am," Elena Shelvay said by way of greeting; once, the woman had served in the Imperial Security Bureau, but had transferred to Tavira's staff nearly five years earlier; since then, she had been essential in aiding Leonia's ascension to her current position. "Republic news media is reporting that Chancellor Solo's husband and children were assassinated at Ambria." Dread instantly caused Leonia's stomach to plunge to her feet, and she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Please tell me we didn't have anything to do with something this stupid," she groaned. The repercussions of such an insane act could easily reignite the war that had only just ended, and destroy all of the hard work Tavira had done in the last six months to ensure the Second Imperium's stability. A realist, she understood the occasional necessity of a well-placed knife in the dark or carefully aimed blaster bolt, but targeting the family of Darth Vader's daughter seemed to Leonia an exercise in idiocy.

"If we did," Shelvay replied quickly, "it was a rogue operation. As far as I know, we don't even have any assets in that sector."

"Find out," Leonia ordered sharply. "I need to know immediately." She blew out a frustrated breath. "Organize an immediate message of condolence for the Republic chancellor," she instructed, "and send a separate communiqué to NRI pledging our assistance in finding out who is behind this."

"Yes, ma'am." The ex-ISB agent hesitated. "Standard governmental condolences," she asked, "or personalized?"

"Both," Tavira decided at once. "And arrange a time for me to make a personal holo-transmission to Organa-Solo." She frowned abruptly as she realized how such a communication might appear to someone emotionally distraught. "No, wait. Cancel that last part," Leonia said. "Consult the Republic ambassador," she added, "and determine if the chancellor would be willing to receive my call, but don't press it. The last thing we need Solo to think is that we're calling to gloat."

As soon as the small hologram blinked out, Tavira climbed to her feet and turned to face the wide, privacy-tinted window at her back overlooking the planet that had once been named Taris. Her mind was racing, and she hardly noticed the sights she usually found so awe-inspiring. The towering buildings, so similar to Coruscant's towers, barely registered as she crossed her arms and let her thoughts run wild. She wasn't sure how long she stood there, staring at the sky traffic without actually seeing it, but the beep of an incoming holo-call brought her back to the present.

"I see you've already been informed," Pellaeon said the moment his life-sized image materialized on the nearby holo-pod. As always, he was dressed in the white uniform of a Grand Admiral, but without the rank squares denoting his high position. His appearance was impeccable, and Leonia could see no hint that he'd been asleep, despite the lateness of the hour. To her surprise, his eyes widened slightly as he took in her state of undress.

"Obviously," she replied, crossing her arms once more. "I hope you didn't have anything to do with this, Gilad," Tavira added flatly, intentionally using his first name to remind him of their equal status. Too often, he treated her as if she was a child or a recalcitrant teenager, and the weight of his experience was often intimidating.

"Don't be absurd," he retorted with a frown. "There is no strategic value in undertaking an operation like this."

"The Solo children are Force-sensitive," Leonia pointed out calmly, knowing the statement would imply her knowledge of his extracurricular activities. Though Pellaeon had done an exceptional job of concealing exactly what he was researching, Tavira had nonetheless managed to breach his intense security measures. She didn't like having to resort to seduction for such things – it was demeaning, for one thing, and she was _rarely_ satisfied with the results in _any _fashion – but, in this case, it had been worth the effort.

The onetime admiral's eyes narrowed. His lips tightened, and Leonia wondered if he was about to disconnect the transmission. In the six months since they had established the joint control of the reorganized Imperium, she had quickly learned that he was almost a fanatic in defending what he perceived to be his realm of control. Any attempt to expand her authority, no matter how slight, was met with aggressive resistance, and Tavira had dialed back her endeavors; he was over thirty years older than she was, after all, and wouldn't live forever. Dealing with his successor would certainly be easier.

"If I were going to send assassins," the white-haired man said softly, his voice so hard and unyielding that it sent a shiver up her back, "I _certainly _wouldn't have sent them after _this _Solo."

Without warning, he ended the communication, and Leonia sighed in half-frustration, half-amusement. She could count on one hand the number of times that they hadn't ended a conversation on an adversarial tone, and it always left her … unsatisfied. Not for the first time, she found herself wishing Gilad Pellaeon was twenty years younger.

Shaking her head to rid herself of the less than prurient thoughts for the man who could easily be her father, Tavira turned back to the long window. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, and she frowned as she watched it rise.

And, once more, her thoughts turned to her fellow consul and his secrets.

That Pellaeon was actively searching for a means to defend against Force users was entirely understandable, given how his previous adjutant had abused him, but, in recent weeks, Tavira had grown to wonder if perhaps his paranoia was getting out of hand. Everything she'd learned about Luke Skywalker seemed to indicate that the son of Darth Vader had no interest in seizing power, no matter what his detractors might insist. Instead, he seemed focused on re-establishing the Jedi Order as an organization independent of any governmental control; the autocrat in Leonia recoiled at the idea of such a group – without any sort of oversight, the Jedi could arbitrarily enforce their will upon the galaxy – but another part of her silently acknowledged that the Jedi could be useful, perhaps as a balancing factor between the Republic and the Second Imperium. As a peacekeeping body, the Jedi would be ideal.

Providing they were prevented from becoming too powerful, of course.

Even Skywalker's paramour seemed to have adopted the pseudo-pacifistic teachings of the Jedi Order, despite the common knowledge that she had once been an Imperial agent. Leonia frowned at that thought; there was a staggering lack of actual proof that Jade had _officially _served the Empire in any capacity, although Tavira had spoken with numerous high-ranking officers who insisted that they vaguely recalled the redhead. When pressed, though, none of them were able to confirm exactly who Jade was, merely that she had exercised authority above that of the interviewed individual. Pellaeon had once intimated that the woman's background was intentionally vague, but Leonia had yet to learn what he meant by the comment.

With all of these factors in place, Pellaeon's obsessive fear of Force users was troubling. He had already ringed his office with ysalamiri, and his personal bodyguard detachment never went anywhere without the furry lizards, but even those precautions seemed insufficient. Personnel assigned to the Triskelion, the headquarters of the Imperial military, underwent intensive medical screenings to determine whether they possessed any degree of Force ability, and anyone discovered to have even the slightest degree of sensitivity were quietly shuffled to alternate duties. Some simply vanished, like Colonel Stele, of the 181st Starfighter Wing, or the COMPNOR deputy director, Vess Kogo. Purges certainly weren't Pellaeon's style, but Tavira didn't know how else to explain these disappearances. Neither Kogo nor Stele was the type to desert.

"Damn you, Pellaeon," she growled fiercely as she stared at the waking city spread out before her. She didn't want to move against him, not so soon after the last uprising, not when she respected him as much as she did, but options were running out. If he continued down this path, Leonia feared it would draw enemies like bees to honey. She had worked too hard to reach this point, had sacrificed too much to acquire the power now at her fingertips.

And she wasn't planning on giving it up without a fight.

* * *

He was itching for a fight.

His every muscle trembled with the urge to lash out, to unleash the simmering hatred and rage swimming through his veins, but Darth Torious clung to his self-control with the last scraps of his willpower as he knelt on the floor of his meditation chamber. Sweat trickled down his back as the _need _cried out to him, a siren call from the Dark Side of the Force that he fought to ignore for as long as he could. It was always there, lurking just out of reach, and tempting him with the power he could wield if only he would stretch out and seize it.

Unconsciously, Torious balled his hands into fists, and fought against the tide of fury that hammered against his mental shields. He closed his eyes tightly and ground his teeth together. The urge to howl, to vent his wrath, swelled with each breath he took, and he felt his body quake as his mental barriers quivered.

It had become a constant struggle for him in the months since his awakening, to avoid completely abandoning himself to the Dark Side and swimming in the hate that had corrupted Lumiya's mind. Violence without purpose was little more than senseless chaos, and Torious had sworn that he would not be consumed as his benefactor had been. He would use the darkness, harness it, and focus it toward his goals rather than be used _by _it like the fool who thought herself his master.

Thought of Lumiya caused another surge of fury to ignite within him, and Torious grimaced at the onslaught of emotion. His hatred for her was intense, a supernova of feeling that nearly overwhelmed his fracturing mental barriers. It was _her_ fault that he could not look in the mirror without seeing the features of a dead man, _her _fault that he had half the life expectancy of a trueborn human, _her _fault that his usage of the Force accelerated his body's already rapid aging…

So much was her fault, and he looked forward to the day when he could abandon the pretense of being a loyal servant. On that day, he would finally destroy her dreams and have his revenge for the half-life he had woken to.

"My lord," a flat, emotionless voice broke into his reverie, and Torious opened his eyes to look at the commodore now standing before him. Lennox stood ramrod straight, his hands clasped together at the small of his back; a vacant expression was upon the commodore's face, but was the only indication of the psychic surgery Torious had utilized to enforce the man's obedience. "We have arrived at Apatros," Lennox announced, "and are conducting scans now."

Drawing in a deep breath, Torious cautiously lowered the barriers of his mind and stretched out with the Force. Though he knew it was his imagination, he felt as if he could almost feel the cells within his body age. Hovering at the very periphery of his awareness was a subtle sensation he recognized from long months of grueling training and war.

There were clones in the system.

"Ready my fighter," Torious instructed as rose to his feet. He didn't wait for Lennox to reply as he strode toward the nearby turbolift, pausing only long enough to secure a trio of lightsabers to his belt. Eagerness pulsed through him, and he abandoned attempts to contain it.

The engines of his fighter howled as he dropped from the launch bay long minutes later, and Torious smiled tightly underneath the helmet he wore. Knowledge of the TIE Avenger's performance capabilities came to him instinctively, like so much about his previous life. Most of the time, this innate expertise troubled him, causing him to question whether he was truly alive or simply a poor copy of the being he had once been, but when he was behind the controls of a starfighter, those worries fell away and were replaced by the pure exhilaration of flying.

A squadron of TIE Interceptors slid into formation behind him without being instructed to do so, and Torious nodded in silent approval of their commander's action. The man – if he survived – would be rewarded for his quick thinking. With the additional firepower surrounding him, Torious was able to let go of his conscious self and focus entirely upon the will of the Force. Almost at once, he felt a distinct tug from the planetary moon. _There_, he realized. That was where the cloning facility was located.

Torious was altering his approach vector even before he realized it, and his escort followed suit without comment or question. Already, a squadron of obsolete but surprisingly effective snubfighters was climbing from the moon, and once again, Torious felt a flicker of recognition. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see the controls of the approaching craft.

"Engage at will," he ordered tersely as he fed more power into the Avenger's sublight drives. A subtle buzz began echoing within his ears, though he knew none of the pilots flanking him could hear it, and Torious glowered at the targeting screen before him. Fury bubbled up within his stomach as the clones raced toward him. His hatred for the barely sentient flesh robots never ceased to infuriate him, even when they had been Lumiya's servants instead of obeying her onetime apprentice, Darth Vidious; absolute control of every facet of his life was essential to maximize the amount of time he possessed, yet the sheer presence of the clones splintered that restraint. He suspected it was because they were a constant reminder of what he was, of what he could have been had Lumiya not wanted something more, but knowing the reason for his disgust didn't stop him from over-reacting.

The targeting array chirped, indicating a solid weapons lock, and Torious triggered a volley of fire that lanced across the void. Quad lasers burned into the cockpit of the lead clone interceptor, punching through the viewport and incinerating the pilot before he had the opportunity to even consider dodging. A nanosecond later, the fighter vanished in an explosion of fire and debris as the lasers ignited the starship's engine core.

Instantly, the lightfight disintegrated into pure chaos, with the clone fighters and the TIE Interceptors peeling off to engage one another in vicious furballs. Torious glanced once at his sensor feed as he arrowed the Avenger through the maelstrom and continued toward the distant moon, twisting sharply to avoid fire. One of the clones dove toward him, cannons barking, but Torious rolled hard, standing the Avenger up on its side before triggering a sudden burst of speed. In the span of a second, he became the hunter. The clone rolled and climbed, frantically trying to shake him, but Torious clung to the superior position and poured laser fire into the obsolete fighter.

A moment later, it was an expanding cloud of vapor.

Satisfied that his escort could deal with the remaining clones, Torious banked hard and resumed his previous course. His fingers itched as his destination loomed before him – a converted mining facility nestled within an immense crater. The space around his Avenger came alive with explosions as automated defenses began unleashing lethal salvos of fire and shrapnel, but he weaved through the storm without conscious thought. He followed his instincts, and dove toward a magcon hangar door nearly concealed by a towering edifice of stone.

His Avenger touched down hard, its repulsorlifts engaging too late to prevent the fighter's hull from scraping the deck, and Torious triggered the egress hatch. He was springing up and out of the starfighter even before the hatch was fully opened. Landing lightly on the metal floor, he pulled a saber from his belt and ignited it with a flourish. Blasterfire from the defenders flashed around him, but Torious batted the bolts away, redirecting several of them into the shooters. He slowly advanced toward where they crouched before an open corridor, the crimson blade of his saber humming loudly as he deflected their offensive fire.

"Fools," he snarled as they continued to blast away at him. With his left hand, he gestured, and the Force answered instantly with all of its intoxicating power. It thundered through him, a torrent of pure ecstasy that washed away his fears and assuaged his desperate need. Two of the defenders flew back, crashing into the wall with a bonecrushing impact, and Torious laughed aloud as the Dark Side roared through him. It saturated his cells, supercharged his muscles, and showed the quickest, easiest way to deal with these fools who would dare to stand against him.

And, without further thought, Darth Torious obeyed its subtle demand.

A wave of Force exploded from his outstretched hand, smashing metal and flesh and bone. One of the support beams holding the ceiling up crumpled, and the walls of the corridor buckled outward under the unseen impact. Bloody bags of meat that had once been men slid across the deck, trailing crimson streaks, but Torious barely noticed as he continued his slow, steady walk down the corridor, his eyes locked on the distant turbolift. The uncomfortable sensation he identified as the presence of other clones intensified, and he followed it, discarding the uncomfortable vac-helmet as he did.

The lift carried him to a wide, open chamber filled with rows of cloning tubes. Two dozen were already in use, half-grown figures of men and women Torious could almost recall knowing, though he knew it wasn't _his_ memories lurking at the edge of awareness. He glowered as he noted the empty spaces that had clearly once housed other Spaarti cylinders; clearly, Darth Vidious, whoever he or she was, had been busy relocating the assets here. It was only logical to do so – Torious had been relentless in his attempt to recover the facilities over the last two months, and none of the clones, no matter how advanced, could hope to stand against him.

He tore his eyes away from the birthing tubes, and turned toward the approaching quartet of clones. All bore the same face – a bald, dark-skinned human with brown eyes and a grim disposition – but Torious smiled nonetheless. It had been too long since he had been able to truly test himself with the blade, and he could think of no one more suited than these pale shadows of a man he almost remembered. He lifted his saber to a ready position.

And gave himself over to the Darkness.

* * *

The darkness of the cockpit perfectly suited her mood.

Slouching in the co-pilot's seat, Mara stared quietly at the desolate landscape beyond the viewport, her left hand propping up her chin and her lips turned downward in a slight frown. First Dawn was still several hours away, but already, she could see clearly for dozens of kilometers, as two of the three planetary satellites hung suspended in the night sky, glittering like corusca gems. Heat lightning flashed brightly in the far distance, crawling across the heavens like silvery spider-webs that existed for only seconds before vanishing forever. If it had been on any other planet, the display might have even been beautiful.

On Tatooine, it was yet another reminder of how the planet was barely habitable.

A deep sigh escaped her lips, and Mara grimaced at the sound, hating how weak it made her sound. She had lost track of how long she'd sat here, watching the moons make their slow transit across the sky and trying hard not to think about anything. The silence of the ship had helped immeasurably – none of the usual noise had been present to distract her, and she'd unconsciously slipped into a pre-meditative state.

And, before she knew it, she was thinking about Luke.

It shouldn't have surprised Mara that her mind had turned to him; she honestly couldn't remember a time when Skywalker _hadn't _dominated her thoughts. At first, he had simply been another target to neutralize, another traitor to her master's rule who she had to study so as to know the best way to kill him. After the debacle with Jabba, Luke had become the sole failure in a long list of successes; for the short week that followed, he was important to her only because of how his continuing survival reflected in her master's eyes. At Endor, Skywalker transformed into a symbol representing her anger and despair; suddenly, he was a reminder of everything she had lost, and she hated him for it. It would take personal interaction and the destruction of a clone many years later for Mara to realize how misplaced her rage was. Almost overnight, he began the transition from enemy to friend, and then from friend to lover, always defying her expectations but never entirely leaving her thoughts.

Without thinking, Mara nearly reached with the Force to him, to ascertain his mental and physical status in order to assure herself that he was okay, but she caught herself in time and instead focused on reinforcing her mental barriers. Anger skittered across her awareness, beating time with her pulse, and she pushed it away, intent on ignoring the memories that would not go away. Like all things Skywalker, though, they would not cooperate.

"Jedi Jade?" Khabarakh's voice broke into her bitter memories, and Mara glanced back at the doorway leading into the cockpit, silently chastising herself for getting so distracted that she didn't notice his arrival. In the old days, she reflected darkly, this sort of inattention could get her killed.

"What?" she asked. Her reply came out sharper than she had wanted it to, but she didn't bother apologizing.

"Master Skywalker has been trying to reach you on the communicator," the Noghri said calmly, though she could sense the wariness draped around him like a cloak.

"I turned it off," Mara snapped. "I don't want to talk to him." Khabarakh grunted once, a harsh sound that carried with it every gram of his disapproval.

"Which explains why he contacted me instead," the Noghri interjected. "He inquired whether you were planning on picking him up, or if he should look to acquiring alternate transportation." Mara closed her eyes at what the question implied, and pushed down the sharp pain that resulted. _Well_, she told herself sadly, _it was good while it lasted._

"When you speak to him again," she said flatly, "tell him I'll pick him up when I feel like it." A hollow ache pulsed through her, and she spoke again. "He doesn't have to worry," she growled, fighting the urge to cry. She _never _cried. The angry words Luke had used earlier during their shouting match tumbled from her lips before she realized it. "The cold-hearted mercenary who never had a thought or feeling her master didn't approve will honor her contract."

Khabarakh hesitated for a moment, but then backed out of the cockpit and left her in solitude once more. It was probably for the best, Mara decided. A monster like her was meant to be alone. She had too much blood on her hands to be worthy of someone like Luke. The cave on Dagobah had shown her that much, though she'd clung to the hope that the terrifying images she'd seen were just possible futures. Her argument with Luke – with Skywalker, she corrected herself; calling him Luke denoted intimacy she didn't deserve – had shattered those dreams, and left her facing the terrible truth she'd been hiding from for nearly two years.

_Damn you, Skywalker,_ she lamented, wondering exactly what it was they had argued over. All she had asked was for him to show her where he'd grown up; his flat refusal to even consider it had surprised her, then annoyed her, and finally angered her. Why _wouldn't _he take her there? Was it because she had been Palpatine's Hand? Was she not good enough to tread on such hallowed ground?

"I don't want to talk about this," Luke had said, frowning at her and turning away as if the conversation was over. His casual reaction had ignited the emotions Mara was struggling to contain, causing them to flare like a super-nova, and she had reacted like she always did when cornered or upset.

She'd attacked.

In retrospect, it seemed like such a trivial thing to blow up over, especially when Luke had let slip that he didn't plan to take her there because _he _wasn't going to set foot on his old farmstead again, but Mara's temper – ever her bane – had exploded. Insults and grievances had spilled forth, feeding and intensifying on Luke's own emotions like a feedback loop. Before she knew it, he had stormed from the _Second Chance_, quivering in fury, and she had made a beeline for the cockpit, abandoning him at Kenobi's rundown ruin of a home. Time away from him had helped cool her anger, but some things couldn't be unsaid.

"I wished to report our status," Khabarakh announced abruptly, his unexpected voice causing her to jump in surprise. Mara shot him a dark look, but he returned it with a blank expression that betrayed no emotion.

"Dammit, Khabarakh," she muttered. "Stop doing that!"

"Barkhimkh and Sakhisakh are in Mos Eisley observing the docking bay with the spare parts," the Noghri said, as if she hadn't spoken. "They have instructions to contact me at once should anything untoward happen."

"Wonderful," Mara murmured without a great deal of interest.

"Olmahk is with Master Skywalker," he continued, and she barked out a sudden laugh.

"You left the _medic_ with him?" she asked before shaking her head. "You're smarter than I thought, Khabarakh."

"I do try," he replied wryly.

"So," Mara said, "that leaves you to babysit me, huh?" She wasn't sure whether to be insulted or flattered. In the end, she decided to go with the latter.

"My team _is _concerned about you and the master," the Noghri admitted. He gave the pilot's chair a glance, but ended up taking the seat behind it while keeping his attention focused on her.

"We had an argument," Mara said. "It's not the end of the world."

"I have witnessed many disagreements between the two of you," Khabarakh retorted. "Never before have they been so … vitriolic." Mara winced.

"Things needed to be said," she said, wishing she sounded like she meant it. "You're not trying to tell me that Noghri couples don't have argue, are you?" she asked in a clear attempt to change the subject.

"I would not know," Khabarakh said stiffly. "As a Journeyman Sojourner," he added, slipping instinctively into his native tongue, "I am not eligible to take a lifemate until my clan mistress deems I am worthy." Mara blinked.

"Skywalker is _not _my _lifemate_," she hissed uncomfortably. The Noghri frowned.

"Is he not?" he asked. "You would lay your life down for him without hesitation, and he you," Khabarakh continued. "You honor him above all others, and he has stood firm against his blood-kin in your defense." He gave her a toothy smile. "You share a bed," he pointed out, "and Lady Shada's holo-stories aside, that is no minor thing."

"Kriff," Mara mumbled. "I'm getting dating advice from a _Noghri_." She gave him a sour look. "How screwed up is that?" Khabarakh gave her a soft laugh.

"As long as you pay heed to my hard won wisdom," he said with self-deprecating humor. "I have seen seventeen seasons," the Noghri declared, "and am considered quite clever by my fellows." Mara did some quick calculations in her head: seventeen to a Noghri translated to late twenties or early thirties for a human. She frowned; with their comparatively shorter life spans, that meant Khabarakh was long past the point where he should have been granted permission to wed, and she couldn't help but to wonder if his decision to join them had doomed him to a life of solitude.

"The bond of a lifemate," Khabarakh continued sagely, "is a sacred one not to be cast aside lightly. It is a solemn vow to be faithful, in good times and ill." He stood, offering her a slight smile. "You have often spoken with Master Skywalker about the Force, and how it binds the galaxy together for a purpose greater than what we know of," he said, and Mara found she could not speak. She stared at the diminutive figure standing before her with wide eyes. "Is not your pairing with Master Skywalker one such purpose, Jedi Jade?" She forced a smile.

"How many times do I have to ask you call me Mara?"

"At least once more, Jedi Jade," Khabarakh replied with another toothy grin. "Few live to know what you share with Master Skywalker," he added as he backed toward the corridor leading to the rest of the ship. "Do not let words spoken in anger ruin what you have found with him."

And, without another word, he turned and left the cockpit.

For a long moment, Mara sat in silence, slightly stunned at how heartfelt Khabarakh's words had been. She blinked away errant drops of moisture threatening to escape her eyes and silently decided to make inquiries of the other Noghri about their team leader's status. He had, she realized, successfully managed to utterly avoid talking about himself in the time she had known him. It was time to change that.

Just like it was time to change a lot of things. If Luke didn't want to talk about his foster parents, he likely had a good reason.

"The one place in the entire galaxy I _don't _want to go to," he had said about Tatooine before they left Kuat, bitterness and anger and sorrow in his voice. Mara winced at the realization he likely had not returned to where he grew up since their deaths. Knowing him, he had probably buried the pain, pretended it didn't exist, and struggled on for the good of the galaxy, never once taking the time to truly let himself grieve for his own losses.

Sighing, Mara reached out with her right hand and flicked on the communications system. When Luke called again, she would answer it. Hopefully, he would accept her apology. And, if not, she'd find some other way to make it up to him. She smiled slightly as she tuned the transmitter to the planetary newscast feed.

A moment later, she wasn't smiling anymore.

* * *

**Kyuubi123:** Thanks for the compliment! I will make it a point of pimping out any actual published material on my part, especially if it helps pay the rent. ;)

**wbsaw:** Re: Tionne & Kam. Thanks. While I liked the concept of Kam, I didn't care for the fact that his background as one of Palpatine's dark side marauders was promptly forgotten once he became a Generic Jedi Master (TM); I'm planning on eventually delving a little more into his past down the road. And there's always been something about the profic version of Tionne that bothered me. As to which one she is, can I say both? Or better yet, can I admit that I was trying for a Vorlon Jedi? (Sans the noncorporeal body, of course).

Re: the hanging plot threads. Yeah, I'm aware of them. Given that they're sleeping together, I'm pretty sure L/M have talked about the kiss (#2). As to #1, Mara keeps telling me to butt out or she'll hurt me. #3 is unfolding, and hopefully this chapter gives you a better idea of what's going on with the cloning facilities.

**Blackdragon189:** Thanks! In regards to Luke being a good sabacc player, it was a whacky idea I had based on my own military experiences; when one is in the field with nothing to do but wait, the presence of a deck of cards can be a life saver. Given that Han is canonically a good player, it seemed logical to assume that Luke would learn the ins and outs of the game from him. Toss in Luke's low-level Force telepathy and he'd be nearly impossible to beat. Plus, I just dug the idea of him kicking Mara's ass in cards and her not really forgiving him for it. :P

**PhantomKnight88: **Are you _sure _they're not dead? They look pretty dead to me. I've got a reputation with my _ST: Enterprise_ fans for being a bloodthirsty misanthrope, after all. Leia is certainly convinced, and she is Force sensitive ...

As to Luke & Mara not having an easy time of it, nope. That's just not realistic. A couple has to work at getting their "happily ever after" and even then, it's not always assured.

**LordRevan: **How's _this _for Han/Leia angst?

**Eternal E:** Re: the prequels. Buddy, you'll get no disagreement from me about the missed opportunities there. Hell, the _plots _don't track with the OT! Someday, if I get around to it, I may write _my _versions of what the prequels should have been like ...

Re: Kyle & Co. A Force-using SWAT team is probably a good analogy, but Katarn really isn't training them per se, merely organizing them into a squad of Bad Asses. I'll be getting more in depth into exactly how this team came about and what the plan is for them in chapter 5...


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Apologies for the delay ... I've been pretty uninspired with SWars since I made the horrible, horrible mistake of looking at the plans for the latest Del Rey multi-book series which disgusted me all over again. It's got to the point now where I've begun questioning whether I'm actually a fan of the franchise anymore. RL has also taken a nose dive for me lately, so that's complicated things a lot.

One section of this chapter was _heavily _inspired by Matthew Stover's excellent _Revenge of the Sith _novelization (I liked it a **_lot _**better than the actual movie), and my emulation of certain passages is intended to be a homage, nothing else.

Replies at bottom.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

HE had to smile at the sight before him.

Once, the wide, oblong room Talon Karrde stood before had been little more than unused storage space, but in the months since he had moved the headquarters of his operation to this planet, Shada had worked hard to transform the empty chamber into a physical training facility. Doubling as a gym and an obstacle course, the room had quickly been dubbed by Aves as 'Mistress D'ukal's House of Pain' due to Shada's insistence that every employee undergo rigorous exercise. Initially, Karrde had been hesitant to enforce her desire, but the commando raid at Korriban – and his own lack of endurance during the various firefights there – had convinced him otherwise.

The recent installation of several dozen tall poles, however, was what caught Talon's eyes and caused him to smile. Of varying heights, each of the posts was just wide enough to balance on, and thick mats covered the floor around them. The resemblance to the Jedi training ground they had seen on Kamparas was unmistakable.

"Mara will never let you live this down," Karrde called out to Shada as he stepped into the training center. She grunted, but made no other reply as she continued her slow circuit around the base of the poles, pausing to test the stability of several. Dressed in exercise clothes that clung to her body like a second skin, she was a vision of hard muscle and dangerous grace.

It took every gram of Talon's willpower to tear his eyes away from her.

"Dravis complained about the regimen you've put him on since he got back," he said as he glanced at the crewmembers running upon the nearby treadmills.

"Of course he did," Shada replied. She crouched before one of the columns to readjust the mat pressed against it and Talon's eyes instinctively followed the curve of her buttocks. He wet his lips and forced himself to look away again. _Damn her_, he groused to himself. "He got fat and lazy on Kuat," she continued in reference to Dravis, standing in a smooth, easy motion. "He'll stop whining once he starts to get into shape again." Abruptly, she frowned and pinned Karrde with narrowed eyes. "And speaking of people who are out of shape," she said ominously, "you haven't been in here for over a week."

"I've been busy," Talon said quickly, knowing it wasn't a good enough excuse. The frown she gave him was proof that she wasn't buying it, and he gave silent thanks when his comlink buzzed. He snatched it off his belt. "Yes?"

"Sir, we've got an unidentified ship on approach vector," Shirlee Faughn's voice sounded from the small device. Karrde frowned and exchanged a quick look with Shada – there weren't any scheduled arrivals for the next two days. "It looks like a _Delta_-class JV-7 escort shuttle."

"Scramble the blastboats," Talon ordered sharply, "and put the facility on alert."

"Yes, sir." A klaxon began sounding almost instantly, and Karrde was gratified to see how quickly the exercising crewmembers reacted. "We're receiving a transmission, sir," Faughn said a moment later. "It's Wookiees, sir. They're asking for you by name." Talon blinked in surprise, then inhaled sharply as he realized who must be aboard.

"Platform two," Shada suggested, and Karrde nodded.

"Blastboats to escort them to platform two," he instructed, "and stand down from alert."

It took Talon less than five minutes to reach the open doorway leading to the landing platform. With Shada at his side, he waited patiently as the escort shuttle broke through the cloud cover and descended toward them, flanked by a trio of Skipray Blastboats. Karrde watched the shuttle with a slight frown, noting the distinctive Wookiee glyphs painted upon the exterior hull of the craft. With an audible _thump_, the transport landed, its ramp lowering even before the ship was fully settled. Engines rumbling, the three blastboats peeled off and retreated to their landing sites.

As Karrde expected, Chewbacca loped down the ramp, an air of tightly controlled fury surrounding him. Solo's towering friend was heavily armed, with two bandoliers, a half dozen vibroknives, and at least three blasters of varying sizes strapped to a thick belt.

"Welcome to Tanaros," Talon said by way of greeting. He gave the battered but heavily armored transport a quick once-over, his frown deepening as two more Wookiees descended the ramp. A half-step behind them, a pair of Noghri followed, moving so silently they might as well have been ghosts. Karrde swallowed. "While I'm curious how you found my new base," he said with a forced smile, "at the moment, I'm far more interested in _why _you're here." Chewbacca growled something, and Talon silently cursed himself for never learning the Wookiee language.

"He wants to borrow Ghent," Shada translated. She was watching the five newcomers with wariness in her eyes. Chewbacca instantly shifted his attention to her and began explaining in low barks and snarls. "Can you slow down?" Shada asked with a confused expression, and the Wookiee growled a response. "They pulled the raw data from the Ambrian satellites," she told Karrde, "and have found some discrepancies that are beyond their abilities to decipher."

"Ghent!" Talon bellowed, knowing the slicer would be monitoring the situation from a terminal somewhere.

"Yeah, boss?" the young man's voice answered over a speaker hidden just above the door.

"Get down here," Karrde ordered. "And bring your rig!"

"On my way, boss," the slicer responded. Chewbacca gestured, and one of the other Wookiees darted back into the shuttle. A moment later, he reappeared, carrying several holo-cubes. With a growl, Chewbacca addressed Shada once more.

"He wants to know how much this will cost," she translated. Karrde made a face.

"You're going after whoever killed Solo?" he asked, and Chewbacca nodded slowly, his mighty hands opening and closing in what seemed to be an reflexive gesture. "Then this is on me," Talon said. "He was my friend too. Get me a list of what you need," he added, "and I'll make it happen."

"One of those Blastboats would be most helpful," the foremost Noghri declared flatly. Karrde nodded.

"Done," he said. "Shada, have Aves coordinate with…" He trailed off, unsure of the diminutive alien's name.

"Mobvekhar," the Noghri offered, "of Clan Hakh'khar." He half bowed at the waist. "I thank you, Talon Clan Karrde."

"You _can_ fly a Skipray, right?" Shada asked as she gestured for the two Noghri to follow her. At Chewbacca's gesture, one of the other two Wookiees fell into step behind her as well.

Ghent appeared at the doorway several moments later, his portable computer slung over his side and both of his hands encased in mesh sensor gloves. He shot Talon a quick look before placing the rig on the deck and powering it up. The built-in holo-transmitter flickered to life, and Ghent held out his hand for the datacubes. He slid them into the computer before stretching his fingers and rolling his head around in an attempt to get limber. As the holo-images began appearing in front of him, the slicer grinned and reached into the transmission with his gloved fingers. Like a musical maestro, he began manipulating the holos with careful precision and skillful dexterity.

"Huh," he remarked mere seconds later. "There's some odd coding in here." Chewbacca replied instantly with what sounded like a noise of agreement, but the slicer gave him a blank look. "Uh … what?"

[This coding is why we sought yourrr talents,] the other Wookiee announced in surprisingly easy to comprehend Shyriiwook. [We werrre unable to identify what it was.]

"It's altered data," Ghent announced in a distracted-sounding voice. He looked at the Wookiee who had just spoken, but his fingers never stopped moving. "I can actually understand you," he said with a grin. "That's neat."

[I suffer from a speech impediment,] came the instant reply. [You may call me Ralrra.]

"I'm Ghent. Pleased to meet you."

"Altered how?" Talon interjected before the kid could get distracted again.

"Portions of the data have been wiped," Ghent said. He nodded to a nearby holo-transmitter and, an instant later, it activated. An image of the _Millenium Falcon _tumbled into the atmosphere of the planet, the hull of the freighter pitted and marred by damage. "This is the data extract as it appears." He input another command, and the holo changed slightly. A contrail shot away from the _Falcon, _and Chewbacca growled a comment or question. "And this is how it appeared before the data purge," Ghent continued as if the Wookiee had not spoken.

"An escape pod?" Talon wondered aloud, and the slicer shrugged.

"Can't tell," he answered. "The resolution of this extract is pretty bad, so it could be a pod, or a missile, or even just debris from the ship." His fingers paused, and he blinked. "There's also a data mask on another sector of this recording."

"In Basic, Ghent," Karrde said.

"Here," the slicer replied. The image changed to a different angle of the planet, and Ghent pointed to an otherwise empty area of space. "There's a starship here," he said as he continued to work his magic. "Whoever sliced this data," Ghent added, "knew they couldn't delete all traces of this ship, so they dropped a mask over it to keep it from being detected."

[Can you rrremove this mask?] Ralrra asked in a low grumble.

"Yup," Ghent replied. He made several gestures with his hands, as if he were peeling the skin away from a citrus fruit. Slowly, an image began to appear. "_Kappa_-class troop shuttle," the slicer identified. "They lurked, landed, and then bugged out a couple of hours later."

[Going wherrre?] Ralrra demanded on top of Chewbacca's ominous growl. The two Wookiees loomed over Ghent, their attention focused entirely upon the holographic display; neither seemed aware of the nervous looks the slicer was giving them as he rotated his left hand within the transmission to fast forward it. Moving faster than was actually possible, the shuttle darted planetside, then raced back into space before vanishing.

"They went to lightspeed about three hours after the crash," Ghent said.

"We can calculate possible destinations along that trajectory," Talon remarked, "but there's no guarantee they didn't just make a couple of micro-jumps to cover where they're going." Chewbacca snarled something that didn't sound happy.

[These sentients are involved,] Ralrra said, [or know who did. Give us the information, and we shall determine the truth of the matter.]

"Do it," Karrde instructed Ghent. "And see if you can pull a transponder ident-code for that ship." He addressed his next comments to Chewbacca. "I'll disseminate it throughout my organization. If this ship shows up on the grid, you'll be the first to know." The Wookiee nodded in silent thanks before turning back toward the shuttle, his hands still opening and closing. Talon wondered if Chewbacca was envisioning what he would when he finally tracked down those responsible.

[Yourrr assistance is grrreatly apprrrreaciated, Talonkarrrde,] Ralrra stated.

"Ghent," Talon said quickly, "set them up for private com-codes."

"On it, boss."

"You'll be able to contact me anywhere," Karrde continued, "as long as you're within range of a holo-array. If you need anything – _anything _– let me know." The Wookiee responded with an opened mouthed growl – Talon suspected it was supposed to be a smile – before moving to flank Chewbacca.

"Noghri and Wookiees working together," Ghent murmured, shaking his head slightly. "I sure wouldn't want to be the poor bastards they're after."

"Maybe we should give them a bucket," Shada said as she rejoined them. "For the remains." Talon gave her a sidelong glance and she responded to the unspoken question instantly. "Aves is setting Mobvekhar up with Blastboat Three. We're loading supplies on it now." Karrde nodded.

"Any word on Mara?" he asked.

"Nothing yet," Shada replied. "She's a professional, Karrde. Unless the situation requires it, she's going to maintain her cover."

"No excuses," Talon said sharply. "Skywalker needs to know about the Solos." Shada gave him a look before frowning.

"I'll have Dankin gear up," she said. "He can take a crew with him aboard Blastboat Two and head to Tatooine." Karrde frowned.

"Make it happen," he ordered.

And so saying, he turned away.

* * *

She turned away from the sight before her.

Tears prickled her eyes, and Leia Organa-Solo fought to keep them from falling as she clung to the last scraps of her self-control. When General Cracken had commed her with the news that the wreck of the _Falcon _had arrived, she had thought she was prepared to look upon it. The truth, however, was entirely the opposite.

Seeing the damage in a hologram was nothing like seeing it up close.

Breathing deeply, Leia forced her pain down, locking it away in a mental box so she could deal with it later, and turned back to the scarred superstructure that had once been a Corellian YT-1300. The cockpit was gone, obliterated in the crash, and the entire outer hull was ravaged with scars. All of the escape pods were missing, though the damage in the entire aft section made it impossible to tell if they had been jettisoned or destroyed by weapons fire.

Leia desperately ignored the growing fear that it was the latter.

For just a moment – the span of a heartbeat, no more and no less – she was transported back to Alderaan and the eve of her first official mission for the fledgling Rebel Alliance, an intelligence gathering operation that used her status as an Organa as cover; more importantly, it had been the first such undertaking that she and Winter masterminded together. Her father's voice, strong and proud, echoed in her ears as he accused them of being fearless, even in the face of possible death and failure. Even then, Leia had scoffed at his compliment because she knew the truth.

Fear lived inside her every day, gnawing at her soul and threatening to leave her whimpering in a corner.

Sometimes, Leia thought of the terror trying to consume her from the inside as a dragon. The myths of Alderaan spoke of such legendary beasts inhabiting the stars, devouring themselves for eternity until there was nothing remaining. Even as a child, Leia had been drawn to those legends, though she was never able to comprehend why; when things were at their darkest and all hope seemed lost, she would imagine that one of the beasts lived within her breast, waiting to swallow her whole. When she saw her homeworld obliterated by the command of a madman, the dragon had whispered furious words in her ears, and on Hoth, when Han and Luke were believed lost, it had growled with her pain. Again, on Bespin, with Chewbacca's hands on her shoulder, the dragon had roared its cry as Han vanished within the freezing chamber.

Now, it thundered its cry once more. Bleak, mocking, painful.

But this time, Leia could not block the sound out of her mind.

"What will you do with it?" a voice asked, breaking into her train of thought. Dressed immaculately in purple and scarlet, Viqi Shesh approached slowly, her eyes studying the barely recognizable hulk that had once been the _Millenium Falcon _with poorly concealed distaste. Leia reached forward to lay her hand upon the outer hull of the freighter and closed her eyes, willing the dragon to silence.

It did not listen.

"Rebuild her," she said in answer to Shesh's question. "Han loved this ship," Leia added softly, "and so did I." Memories flooded into her mind's eye – all of the times they narrowly escaped certain death because of Han's piloting skills and the _Falcon's _endurance. It didn't seem right to _not _put the effort in restoring the aged freighter.

No matter the cost.

"It would be far less trouble to simply purchase a new craft," Shesh stated, and Leia shot her a dark frown.

"No," she replied coldly, "it wouldn't." The Kuati woman's eyes widened fractionally at the venom in Leia's comment and frowned. "Is there a reason you're here?" Leia asked, making a conscious effort to ameliorate her tone.

"You asked to be informed the moment Intelligence sent us their report," Shesh said. She offered Leia a holo-disc. "I am sorry, Chancellor," the Kuati senator added, "but there is no indication that any escape pods were jettisoned. There were no survivors."

A sharp pain stabbed through Leia's chest, and she turned her face away from Shesh so the other woman would not see the agony there. _My babies are gone_, Leia wanted to howl. _Han is gone._

_My heart is gone._

The dragon screamed its silent fury.

"There was a discrepancy in the satellite data," Shesh continued remorselessly, her voice suddenly sounding exactly like the growl of the beast within Leia's breast demanding to be unleashed. "A _Kappa_-class landing shuttle was in-system," The Kuati woman said. "We're still trying to isolate its transponder code." A flicker in the Force caused Leia to pin the other woman with narrowed eyes.

Shesh was concealing something.

"And?" Leia asked ominously. When the Kuati senator hesitated, Leia took a step closer. "Spit it out," she ordered.

"It may mean nothing," Shesh said cautiously, "but most of the destinations along their exit vector are in Imperial space." Leia clenched her fists together as her dragon once more screamed its rage. She could already imagine how this information would be received among the vocal minority of Republic citizens clamoring for her to immediately declare war upon the Second Imperium to enact revenge for Han's death. _And to think,_ Leia reflected darkly, _I thought I could negotiate with these Imperial monsters._

"Contact Tavira," she instructed with far more calm than she felt. "Push up the date for our face-to-face. I want her here within the week." Shesh's surprise rolled off of her like a wave.

"Is that wise?" the woman asked. "The Ruling Council is already worried that you are too emotionally wrought to make logical decisions," she continued, "and I have little doubt they will press to limit your authority should you continue in this vein."

"With you there to lead the way, no doubt," Leia retorted. "I haven't forgotten how quickly you abandoned Fey'lya when it suited you, Madame Senator," she said tightly. Shesh's already difficult to read presence in the Force vanished entirely as she retreated into her White Current training, but the expression on her face revealed much.

"He acted the fool," the Kuati woman said, her voice hard, "much as you do in this moment." She gave Leia a withering look. "I stand for my world," Shesh reminded her, "not with you or any other senator. Forget that at your peril, Chancellor." She stormed away, purple silks flying.

Leia watched her go, wondering at the sudden unease swimming in her stomach. Her distrust of Shesh flared, causing her to once more question the wisdom of appointing the Kuati senator to the vice-chancellorship. It had seemed a good idea at the time but now, it looked to be a liability. Leia harbored no illusions that Shesh was intimately involved in the Ruling Council's push to unseat her.

"When you hold a serpent to your chest," Bail Organa had once said of Palpatine, "never forget that it will strike when you least expect it."

And Leia knew that Viqi Shesh was very much a serpent.

"May I be of assistance, Lady Solo?" Cakhmaim asked, his gravelly voice interrupting Leia's musings. He stood silently, studying her with sad eyes.

"No," she replied softly, placing her hand once more on the pitted hull of the _Falcon_. "No one can help me anymore," she added under her breath. Cakhmaim grunted softly, and Leia frowned as his Force signature quivered. She turned to face him, a questioning look on her face. The Noghri sighed.

"I wish to beg your leave, Lady Solo," Cakhmaim said, "to conduct my own investigation. I am … dissatisfied with the results of the New Republic."

"That makes two of us," Leia muttered.

"This attack on the _Millenium Falcon _was too calculated," the Noghri continued. "It required information that they could not have had."

"You think they have an operative here on Coruscant," she guessed.

"I do," he admitted. "To be in position as the attackers were," he added, "one would have needed to know Lady Winter's travel schedule."

"Which would require an inside man." Leia glowered at the floor. "Conduct your investigation, Cakhmaim," she ordered. "Find this traitor." The Noghri bowed and started to turn away before hesitating.

"And when I do?" he asked cautiously.

Leia blinked.

And, in that moment, the dragon pounced.

"Use your best judgment," she said. "Alive, preferably. Dead, just as good." The Noghri gave her a toothy smile, and Leia could feel his approval at the answer.

"It shall be as you say, Lady Solo," he hissed.

A moment later, he was gone, leaving Leia alone – excepting the three Guardsmen and six Noghri scattered around the hangar in defensive positions, of course. She faced the _Falcon _again.

"Don't worry, old girl," she murmured as she stroked the ruined hull. "We'll get you back together soon. I promise."

But silence was her only answer.

* * *

He wanted answers.

Face set in an angry scowl, Gilad Pellaeon slowly paced along the length of the balcony overlooking the holo-pit below him. Buried deep within the bowels of the Triskelion, the War Room was alive with activity – comtechs hurried about their duties, ignoring the immense realtime galactic hologram that dominated the massive room. Every surveyed and known system in the galaxy was represented within the glittering holo, each color-coded to represent their affiliation: red for the Imperium, blue for the Rebels, and yellow – an apt color, in Pellaeon's opinion – for those who straddled the fence. Fleet movements could be tracked from here as well, and Gilad tried hard not to frown at how few battle groups he had at his disposal. Equally important were the flashing images that represented Rebel fleets, though it was distressing how similar in size they were to the Imperial units.

At the moment, however, Pellaeon was less interested in the big picture than he was an ongoing operation. Only minutes had passed since he had been alerted that the _Defiant_, a _Strike_-class cruiser on Outer Rim patrol duties, was responding to a high-level alert originating from an unremarkable system deep within the Danlun Corridor. A dead world that had once been the site of a mining colony over a millennia ago, Apatros had been abandoned once its resources were depleted several hundred years earlier, though it had been rumored to be the site of pirate shadowport over the last century. A scan of Imperial databases revealed no indication of a base ever having been constructed within the system, and yet, _Defiant _had received the urgent plea for aid using an obsolete AT3 directive code. The use of this cipher made it impossible for them to _not _investigate.

Even if it felt like a trap.

"_Defiant _ETA in two minutes," one of Gilad's adjutants – a ground major by the name of Tierce – declared. The younger man was half a step behind Pellaeon, one hand constantly touching the com device in his ear while his other hand gripped the sidearm at his waist. Recently recruited from the stormtrooper corps, he had been thoroughly vetted and tested for any possibility of Force abilities. Thus far, Gilad had been quite satisfied with the job the ex-stormtrooper had done, especially in regards to Consul Tavira. It hadn't surprised Pellaeon in the slightest that Tavira had taken the major to her bed, but Gilad had been pleased when Tierce revealed that he had planted a number of eavesdropping devices in the woman's personal quarters. They wouldn't remain undetected for long – Tavira was far too efficient for that to happen – but those devices still gave him key insight into how she thought.

He just wished such subterfuge wasn't necessary in the first place.

"Maximize the viewer," Pellaeon ordered as he leaned over the balcony's edge, bracing himself upon the deceptively strong railing. A heartbeat later, the holographic display of the galaxy appeared to zoom into the Apatros system, though at the moment, they only had the basics statistics – local star, planetary bodies, and satellites – at hand. "What other assets do we have in the quadrant?" he asked.

"Not many, sir," Tierce replied. "This entire sector has been listed as NEO," the major continued, pronouncing the acronym as if it were a single word. Gilad frowned: not essential to operations indicated that there was little of interest for the Imperial war machine, so very little effort was spent in policing it.

"Then why was _Defiant _in-sector?" Pellaeon demanded. Unconsciously, his eyes darted around the war room, double-checking that the stormtroopers bearing ysalamiri were in place at their assigned positions. In a room this size, nearly a dozen were necessary, but Gilad considered the logistical problem a minor problem providing it kept him safe from Force users. Involuntarily, he shivered as the memory of Torul's psychic grip upon his mind surged forward.

_Never again_, Pellaeon silently promised himself.

"Deep-space mapping, sir," the major answered. "One minute to arrival."

"I want everything we have on Apatros transferred to this station," Gilad snapped, gesturing to the computer panel integrated into the balcony's rail. Tierce obeyed instantly, and several brief seconds later, data began crawling across the tiny screen. There was astonishingly little available. "Has this been cross-referenced with all known Intelligence operations?" he asked as he reached the end of the document, no more enlightened than before.

"Yes, sir," Tierce replied. The major frowned. "We're finding new black projects every day, though," he said. "If we had assets there, or the Emperor was running something from Apatros, it may not be in the system yet."

Pellaeon cursed softly. Since beginning his audit of all Imperium operations months earlier, he had been disgusted to discover how much money simply vanished into the singularity that was covert operations, and only rarely was it worth the price. Gilad had already terminated hundreds of ridiculous projects, ranging from a small, one-person fighter theoretically capable of surviving a trip through a star (though the results weren't encouraging thus far), to an even more insane plan of mounting a superlaser upon a stripped down _Executor_-class hull. The money pouring into those senseless programs exceeded the hundreds of trillions, more than enough to purchase a dozen new battleships and destroyers.

"_Defiant _should be in-system now, sir," Tierce abruptly announced. "Attempting to establish a connection with her now." Gilad nodded and watched the flickering hologram with growing discomfort. His instincts were telling him that something wasn't right and, before he knew it, he was drumming his fingers nervously atop the balcony ledge. Impossibly long minutes passed before Major Tierce suddenly tensed and took a step closer. "Sir," he said softly, voice pitched only for Pellaeon's ears, "we have a problem."

"Define _problem_," Gilad growled. Reaching past him, the major typed a rapid code into the computer panel before Pellaeon. The Apatros system document displayed upon the small monitor vanished and was quickly replaced by what looked to be gun camera footage. A heartbeat later, Gilad realized his error as a flash of light momentarily blinded the optics of the camera; spinning dizzily, the emergency alert capsule raced away from its origin point, rapidly leaving behind the _Defiant _in a desperate attempt to get clear from the already crippled _Strike-_class cruiser to beam the ship's final message across the Holonet. Faster the capsule moved, and Pellaeon was able to make out the horrific damage inflicted upon the warship: great gaping holes exposed _Defiant's _superstructure and the bridge section had been utterly obliterated. Explosions of fire, oxygen and scorched metal erupted from the exterior of the starship as an unseen foe poured kilojoules into the dying craft. Suddenly bracketed by hostile fire, the alert capsule shivered and vibrated, its angle of escape altering rapidly. And in that moment, the attacking warship came into view.

It was the _Resilience._

Pellaeon's breath caught as the small image of the errant star destroyer continued to pound away at the already ruined _Defiant _and the alert capsule. Brilliant emerald turbolasers flashed toward the camera, and the image abruptly terminated with a flash of static.

"Can you confirm the identity of that ship?" Gilad asked softly. Tierce nodded.

"Already done so, sir," he replied. "That was Commodore Lennox's destroyer."

"Contact Daala," Pellaeon said flatly as he replayed the short-lived flatvid. "Give her all the pertinent data, and instruct her to relocate her battle group to Apatros at once."

"Rules of engagement?" Tierce asked, and Gilad gave him a dark scowl.

"The _Resilience _is to be considered hostile," he snapped. "Neutralize if possible, destroy if necessary, but I want Lennox removed as a threat." He drew in a steadying breath. "Inform Daala that she has full discretion."

"Aye, sir." The major retreated from the console, leaving Pellaeon alone with his black thoughts. He replayed the last transmission of the _Defiant _a third time, fighting the urge to scream out his fury and confusion. Xamuel Lennox was a patriot, not a would-be warlord.

Nothing made any sense.

* * *

It didn't make any sense.

Bodies were everywhere – clones, stormtroopers, and technicians – and Kyle Katarn blew out a frustrated breath at the sheer amount of destruction. Most of the damage appeared to have been caused by lightsaber blades, but a fairly significant amount seemed to have come from blasterfire or grenade shrapnel. This was the sixth facility in the last two weeks that his team had discovered that had already been hit before they even arrived.

Not for the first time, he questioned the wisdom of agreeing to conduct this operation for Skywalker in the first place. When Luke had originally approached him several months earlier with a wild tale about Sith Lords and Jedi clones, Kyle had agreed to investigate, fully expecting it to require only a couple of weeks to deal with, after which he could return to his regular schedule. Instead, weeks rapidly turned to months, and there appeared to be no end in sight. Apart from several random encounters instigated by their investigation, his team always seemed to be one step behind their unseen opponents, showing up days or even just hours after the mystery Sith had left. Kyle was beginning to get frustrated.

He _hated _being frustrated.

This latest facility had been concealed within the mouth of a dormant volcano on the dusty world of Onadax. Under normal circumstances, it would have been nearly impossible to locate the base – a cloaking shield powered by the planet's geothermal activity ordinarily concealed it from sight – but the damage inflicted before the Vornskrs had arrived left the facility visible to the naked eye. Upon insertion, they had discovered it to be another shattered mess. This time, however, there was something different, something out of place, though Kyle wasn't entirely sure what.

"There's something not right here," Kam Solusar murmured as he weaved his way through the bodies scattered around the wide chamber. He was fingering his blaster rifle and studying the carnage with a dark frown. "These clones," he said, pointing to a cluster of bodies, "were fighting each other."

"What about the stormtroopers?" Tyria Sarkin questioned. Wearing blackened body armor shaped for her distinctive contours, she almost looked like a feminine storm commando.

"They came later," Solusar replied. "Probably while the clones were fighting with each other." He crouched alongside one of the armored corpses and rolled it over. "Novatroopers," he identified, pointing to the distinctive black and gold coloring of the protective gear. "That means they were here to capture someone."

"Do you ever get the feeling," Tyria wondered aloud, "that we don't have the full story about what's going on?"

"Every damned day," Kyle growled. He glanced in the direction of the entrance as Kirana Ti and Tionne entered together. "Where the hell is Horn?" he demanded sharply.

"Friend Corr-Ann has taken his droid-machine to the hardframe," Kirana answered.

"Mainframe," Tyria corrected absently. "How do you know they were after someone?" she asked of Solusar.

"That's what novatroopers do," Kyle interjected quickly.

"It's a lot harder to capture someone than it is to kill them," Kam added, "so they only send elite units for it." He looked up at Katarn. "I don't think the troopers were working with either group of clones."

"Neither do I," Katarn said. "Three different factions, all converging on the same place. It can't be a coincidence."

"Four, if you include us," Sarkin remarked. "What do you think, Tionne?" she asked as the other woman wandered around the room.

"Will Yun be joining us?" Tionne asked out of nowhere. She was looking at Kyle – or more accurately, looking _through _him – with those silver eyes of hers, and he couldn't quite restrain a shiver.

"Who?" he asked reflexively, wondering how she knew the name that came from both his past and his future.

"Your son, of course," she replied instantly. "Or is he off gallivanting around the galaxy with Ami again?" Tionne shook her head in bemusement. "I swear," she commented with a wry smile, "it's a wonder you haven't already gone gray with their exploits."

"Uh," Katarn said hesitantly, "I don't know anyone named Ami."

"You will," came her instant, cryptic response. She smiled distractedly, and ran her hand along the surface of an overturned computer bank. "After all, she's going to be your daughter-in-law one day."

"Ti," Kam said patiently. "You're doing it again." She frowned, as if confused, and then sighed deeply.

"I am?" she asked with a distraught expression. "I'm sorry, Kyle," she said sadly. "Sometimes, I get confused over what _will_ happen, what _might _happen, and what _could _happen."

"There's a difference?" Katarn asked with a sour look. Tionne nodded.

"Yes," she said before sighing again. "I just wish I could tell them apart."

"Sorry about that," Solusar remarked as Tionne wandered off to stand alongside Kirana Ti.

"Has she always been like this?" Tyria asked. She was eyeing Tionne carefully.

"Ever since I first met her," Kam replied. "She has her good days and bad days, like everyone else." He frowned. "Historically," he added, "Jedi seers have always been a little odd. In her case, she's hampered by her limited Force ability." He grimaced as his eyes followed the woman in question. "The visions overwhelm her to the point she can no longer tell the difference between now and tomorrow."

"It's interesting how much you know about Jedi seers," Kyle commented. Throughout the months since Katarn had recruited him, Solusar had made a number of comments that implied greater knowledge of the Jedi Order, though he always closed up when pressed on this fact. Now was no different.

"I watched a holo once," Kam retorted before striding away to join Tionne.

"Ah," Tyria murmured, "the joys of working with crazy people." Kyle shot her a disbelieving look.

"Says the woman who served in Wraith Squadron," he grumbled. She smiled.

"I never said I wasn't one of them," Sarkin said with a smile, "though I am hurt that you didn't let us know that you and Jan had decided on a name."

"Need to know," Katarn remarked with a tight smile that he didn't entirely feel. It was disconcerting to discover that the decision he and Jan had made only days earlier concerning her unexpected pregnancy was evidently something Tionne already knew.

"I wonder if Kell wants kids," Tyria mused softly, her words obviously not intended for Kyle's ears.

"You should ask him," he told her. She blushed and shuffled a step away from him. Katarn fought back a grin.

"Colonel," Horn said as he entered the room. "You need to see this."

"Please, tell me you've got some good news for me," Kyle muttered.

"Hardly." Corran stepped out of the way to allow his astromech to enter. "There's a dead man downstairs," the Corellian began as he waited for Whistler to maneuver in place.

"Look around," Tyria sniped, "there are plenty of dead men here too." Corran ignored her as the droid began projecting a holo of a male corpse.

"This is Andur Tuloni," Horn said. "He topped CorSec's Most Wanted list for three years straight."

"Who was he?" Kyle asked.

"A terrorist," Corran replied. "He specialized in the development of bio-weapons." Horn's Force presence quivered with anger and worry. "After we caught him," he revealed darkly, "the Empire demanded that we turn him over."

"For what reason?" Kirana asked. Corran's reply was harsh.

"So they could put him to work." Kyle frowned

"What are you thinking, Horn?" he asked.

"I'm not _thinking_ anything, sir," Corran replied. He offered a datapad. "Tuloni was carrying this." The Corellian's expression was bleak. "The Imps were here to get test subjects, sir." Horn looked up and pinned Kyle with a horrified gaze. When he spoke next, Corran looked to be on the verge of being sick.

"Test subjects that can use the Force."

* * *

The Force flickered and danced around him, hinting at important matters still unseen, but in his current mood, he wasn't able to focus on even attempting to comprehend its meaning.

High overhead, the twin suns burned, gleaming like a pair of sinister, remorseless eyes. Waves of heat climbed into the sky, blurring the horizon with a searing haze that caused any hint of moisture on the desolate planet to evaporate almost instantly. Blistering wind rolled across the endless dunes, scattering fine crystals of sand and leaving no landmark untouched or unmarred. Even breathing was painful, feeling as if one was inhaling fire.

Luke Skywalker had come home.

Crouching before the featureless stretch of sand that once been his home, Luke blew out a deep breath and tried once more to wrestle his unruly emotions under control. Despite the years that passed, the pain of loss still stabbed through him, as if his aunt and uncle had died only a few days ago instead of over twelve years earlier. He closed his eyes as he hefted a fistful of hot sand and let it slowly trickle through his fingers. Sense memories assailed him – the stench of smoke and burned flesh; the sound of fire slowly consuming what had been home; the taste of death hanging in the air; the sight of two skeletons scorched beyond recognition – and he fought the urge to scream, to howl, to vent his despair over lost chances that would never come again.

"Are you well, Master Skywalker?" Olmahk asked softly. The Noghri stood directly in front of the speeder bike Luke had acquired so many months ago on Mytus, a concerned look upon his face.

"I've certainly been better," Luke replied. He was silent for a long moment as he studied what little remained of his childhood home. Only fragments of the tech dome remained, broken and fractured by a combination of the harsh Tatooine weather and Jawa scavengers. The living pit was gone – without the deflector screen to protect it from the storms that routinely swept across the planet's surface, the pit had undoubtedly been packed with debris and sand less than a week after he left the planet.

Warmth suddenly washed over him, though it wasn't a physical sensation, and Luke glanced up from the ground. A moment later, he was able to hear the distant whine of a starship engine, and the _Second Chance _appeared upon the horizon mere seconds later. Mara's Force presence burned brightly, though her mental shields were stronger than ever. He could vaguely sense her emotions as she drew closer – anger, despair, guilt, sadness – churning just below the psychic barrier she had erected to protect her innermost thoughts, but made no effort to decipher their meaning. If she wanted him to know what she was thinking or feeling, she would tell him.

The _Chance _made a single overhead flyby, as if Mara was verifying this was the correct spot, before banking softly and landing lightly some ten or fifteen meters away. Olmahk said nothing as he instantly began pushing the speeder bike toward the freighter, and Luke returned his attention to the stretch of nothing before him. His questing fingers found something in the sand and he pulled it free. A jagged slab of pourstone, he recognized it as having come from the fractured tech dome.

Mara was silent as she joined him, and if it wasn't for the Force whispering her presence to him, Luke doubted he would have even heard her approach. He could sense her eyes on him, could tell she was struggling with powerful emotions, but decided against pushing. More than anything else, he didn't want to fight with her right now, not while standing upon such hallowed ground.

"They would have liked you," Luke said without bothering to stand. He smiled, momentarily lost in pleasant memories of his youth. "You would have intimidated them," he continued, "but they would have liked you, I think."

"That's … nice," Mara replied. She stepped into his line of sight, taking up a position a meter or so to his side. Luke tried not to sigh at how far away she stood from him; just days ago, she wouldn't have thought twice about invading his personal space, and he hadn't realized until this very moment how much he took that for granted.

Or how much he really wanted to feel her touch in this moment.

"We've got to go," she started to say, but Luke held up his hand as he rose to his feet and turned to face her.

"I need to apologize first," he interrupted. "I said some things to you that I never should have said, and I'm sorry."

"It takes two to tango, Skywalker," Mara retorted. She couldn't meet his eyes. "I'm as guilty as you are."

"That doesn't make it right," Luke countered. "First and foremost," he said, "you are my friend, Mara. I had no right to lash out at you like I did." She shifted awkwardly, glancing back in the direction of the _Chance_, and Luke felt his hopes for a positive reconciliation begin to fade. Her mental shields were still up, blocking any hint of insight he might had gleaned from her Force presence, but the discomfort on her face told him everything he needed to know.

He was going to lose her.

"We can talk about this later," Mara said, and Luke frowned as he shook his head.

"No," he replied more calmly than he felt, "we need to talk about it now. If we put it off, we'll keep putting it off and never actually talk. I don't want this to ruin this … us." Luke shied from referring to their relationship as such, though it was mostly because he still didn't know what Mara felt about him and he didn't know how to ask her without sounding like an idiot. "I just want to make sure you understand how sorry I am for the things I said." He grimaced. "And you were right. I _was _hiding from the past instead of dealing with it."

"Luke," she began, but he stepped closer to her and placed the fingers of his left hand against upon her lips. There wasn't any real pressure, and he knew she'd break his hand if she felt he was trying to intimidate her, but her moment of surprise gave him the time he needed to speak again.

"Please," he asked softly, "let me finish." He continued before she could reply. "I hate this planet," Luke said, sensing her slight surprise at the non sequitur. "I always have, even when I was young." Shaking his head in disgust, he began to pace. "Growing up, all I ever wanted was a way off this rock, a way into the stars and the adventure I just knew was out there waiting for me." He blew out a frustrated breath. "After my aunt and uncle died," he said, "I buried the pain and did everything I could to not think about it." He laughed bitterly. "Even when I came back to rescue Han, I stayed as far away from this place as physically possible."

"You buried your past here," Mara offered, a knowing expression on her face. "I've tried to do the same." Luke nodded.

"Coming back here," he said, "and seeing this place … it reminded me of everything I've tried to run from, everything I lost to get my _adventure_." He spat out the last word with as much contempt as he could manage. "Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Naberrie may have been my biological parents," he said sadly, "but my mother and father died right here trying to protect me." With a wan smile, Luke looked into her emerald eyes. "I didn't think you were unworthy of coming here, Mara," he told her, "I felt like _I _was unworthy."

"They would be very proud of you," she said softly. She stepped closer to him, placing her hand upon his arm in a comforting gesture. "Never think otherwise."

"Thanks." Luke exhaled deeply and felt a decade of grief ease. Only fractionally, of course; he doubted it would ever really go away, and, for that matter, he didn't think he actually would _want _it to. "I'm sorry for hurting you," he said, ignoring her almost instinctive bristling at the intimation that she _could _be hurt, "but I understand if you can't forgive me." She broke eye contact, glancing once more in the direction of her ship, and Luke grimaced. "If you think we need some time apart," he said, "I'll respect that decision." Her eyes snapped back to eyes.

"Is that what you want?" she asked almost hesitantly.

"No," Luke said instantly. "I never want you to leave," he admitted, the words tumbling from his lips before he realized what he had said. Her eyes widened slightly, and she wet her lips with her tongue.

"This … thing between us," Mara said a moment later, her voice thick with emotion, "this … relationship? It scares the hell out of me." Luke gave her a startled look, and she continued. "I don't like feeling vulnerable," she admitted. "All my life, I've had it pounded into my head to never let anyone get too close to me because it was dangerous." She gave him a smile that was half-affectionate, half-sour. "And then you came along and screwed everything up."

"I'm not going to apologize for that," Luke told her with a soft smile of his own.

"Not asking you to," she retorted. Her good humor faded and she closed her eyes. "I'm just … worried that you want something I can't give you," Mara murmured.

"If this is about children," Luke started to say, but she held up a hand to forestall any assurances.

"It isn't," Mara replied too sharply for him to entirely believe her. She looked away, suddenly looking so much like a lost little girl that his heart went out to her. He wondered if she realized how sad she always looked when the subject of children came up. Unconsciously, her left hand dropped to her stomach, and Luke knew she was tracing the scars there.

The revelation she'd made weeks earlier about her inability to bear children thanks to a near death experience continued to haunt him … _and_ confuse him for reasons that didn't entirely make sense to him. There was a sense of wrongness to her tale, as if something was still hidden despite his conviction that she was telling him the absolute truth. She had shown him the medical records from her most recent visit to a medical facility and Luke had seen the evidence of her destroyed ovaries.

And yet, somehow, Luke felt that the matter wasn't entirely closed. Mentally, he shrugged and focused his attention entirely upon the face of the woman who had come to mean so much to him.

"I'm talking about your emotional needs," Mara said a moment later. "I'm a mess, Skywalker," she pointed out, still looking anywhere but at him. "You deserve someone better than me."

"I don't _want _someone better than you," he retorted, wincing almost the second he spoke. "That really didn't come out right," Luke muttered as she gave him a sidelong look. Mara pursed her lips and Skywalker felt his own burden lighten at the half-amused glint in her eyes. "We deserve each other, Mara," he said. "I'm just as screwed up as you are," Luke added as he stepped closer to her. When she didn't retreat from his invasion of her personal space and instead gave him a soft smile, he felt relief wash through so intensely that he nearly flinched. "Maybe together," he said hesitantly, "we can be a complete person."

"Been waiting long to use that one?" Mara asked, her trademark smirk resurfacing. Luke grinned.

"All day, actually," he replied. "We still need to talk," he said a moment later. "I don't want to lose you."

"Lose me?" she repeated before shaking her head. "I'm not going anywhere, Farmboy."

"Promise?" To his surprise and secret dismay, Mara glanced in the direction of the _Chance_ and her good cheer faltered. She returned sad eyes to his face before reaching for his hand. A chill crawled up his spine. _Something's wrong_, he realized as Mara visibly struggled to find the right words.

"Luke," she said slowly, taking both of his hands as she spoke. "GNN is reporting … they're saying … dammit!" She closed her eyes in frustration.

"Just tell me, Mara," Luke instructed despite his instincts shouting for him to run, to hide, to find some deep, dark cave and stay there. She drew in a deep breath, and he could feel her drop her mental barriers.

"It's about Solo," Mara said with despair in her eyes, "and the twins. They're gone."

And in that moment, Luke knew.

* * *

**PhantomKnight88: **Glad you approve of Tendra's inclusion; while I loathed the Lando/Mara thing KJA implied in his terrible JA books, I am very much a fan of Lando's, and wanted him to see some _good _things happen (as opposed to the usual "failed" ventures and random womanizing we generally see.) And I've got _big _things planned for Governor Calrissian.

**Skyhanhunter: **Stele actually showed up in _Tyranny Reborn_ - he was the pilot who Corran fought at Byblos, though they ended up really screwing each other up. As to where he vanished to, I dunno...

**wbsaw:** _Babylon 5_ is probably one of my favorite sci-fi shows ever,so you've missed a really great show. And surely you recall my reference of Darth Vidious back in chapter 12 of _Tyranny Reborn_, right?

**Kelly: **Welcome aboard! I strongly recommend you check out the original Zahn trilogy (_Heir to the Empire, Dark Force Rising, The Last Command_), and the X-Wing books by Stackpole and Allston. Beyond them, though, I can't actually recommend any of the other SW books though, _especially _once Del Rey took over the franchise (starting with _Vector Prime_). Besides, those are the only books that are entirely in my continuity...

**Blacknblue: **More importantly, I FUBARed the _Millenium Falcon_! That's like heresy, isn't it?

**Deja: **It's gonna get a lot darker before it ends...

**Kyuubi123: **So many questions! :P

**Elemarth: **I think you meant "Tycho," not "Talon." And don't forget Meewahl...

**EternalE:** "Tears of pure love." Heh. That does sound pretty lame.

**Admiral: **I wouldn't say it's "one big Luke/Mara fest" - yeah, their relationship is a big part of the story, but it isn't the only element. I _do _understand your concerns about Solo - he's one of _my _favorite characters too - and hope you'll give me the benefit of the doubt. Besides, the general consensus in the various feedbacks (here & at TFN) is that "no body = no death," so surely I wouldn't kill Han off, would I?

But you'd be okay with "Darth Leia" if I did, huh? Interesting...

**superninjamonkey: **Dude! I _love _your name! And welcome aboard!


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